Together we Fall
by Arya May
Summary: History, slash, and much more will be explored in this 100 prompt challenge that has been kindly given to me by a fellow author on this site. Mainly Fritz/Prussia, but also contains PruAus, Germancest, and PruHun. Historical Hetalia.
1. Prompts 1 to 10

_**A/N (PLEASE READ TO AVOID CONFUSION)...**_

***(This is a complete edited version of the original chapter one. I looked back on it from earlier- and by god, it was hard not to groan at my own mediocre attempts at writing fanfiction. Also, if you think this chapter wasn't good, skip it and read the later chapters. I made a huge improvement as time went on so...)***

**This, as you might have guessed, is the result of a hundred theme challenge from another awesome author on this site by the name of ChibiStarr for the amazing pairing I have come to love called Fritz/Prussia, or as I like to call it- just F/P. Seeing at how there is hardly anything to do with them that's actually regularly updated, I decided- why not? It might be interesting (and it really was). Please keep these points in mind as you read along:**

**1) Fritz- because no one seems to know who the hell he is- is otherwise known outside of Hetalia as Frederick the Great, or Frederick II of Prussia who ruled from 1740- 86, born in 1712. He was an awesome guy and regarded as the greatest of all the Prussian kings. In the webcomic of Hetalia, he is called "Old Fritz" and is Gilbert's favourite boss. As his character was omitted from the anime (damn you people who decided on that), look at the Seven Years' War strips for more details. While somewhat historically inaccurate, they still are somewhat amusing. I read about ten huge books on the guy, so I do have references to the facts I present.**

**2) This story deals with a real person/nation. If you are against such pairings, then don't flame me about it. Also, it is historical though I will use my artistic liscence if I need to to modify anything. Also, there are modern day AU's and such otherwise.**

**3) There will be secondary pairings, mainly PruAus, but I will throw in some Germancest and PruHun eventually. If you like PruCan, then you'll never see it. I loathe that pairing and I cannot tolerate it- no offense intended to the shippers and fangirls.**

**4) Please do review. It helps my own morale and it only takes a few seconds to write some words. Danke Schone!**

**And now without any further ado, here is Together We Fall...**

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><p><strong>001: Pain<strong>

Frederick was there when the wounds broke out on his dear nation's body, seemingly on their own accord- and dying his clothes with blood both of them knew would never wash out. While there were some times that the immortal man's position was envied, now was not one of them. He bled with the people, because he _was_ the people, and even despite the fact that the albino had retreated behind his thickest walls of impassive facades- the king could see how hard it was for him not to scream as the waves of pain came pouring a forth.

The guilt would come up then, despite the half hearted reassurances that Prussia would give, obvious lies that both were aware of- and all would then become a war between duty and the greater good. Common sense cried out that it was much, much too late to withdraw from battle- and as a ruler, Fritz understood that all too well.

However, the sentimental side of things were just as hard to ignore.

There were already uncountable times when he would collapse onto bed with Prussia beside him- wanting the war to just end for the nation's own sake, if no one else's. Each death- each battle fought extracted such a toll from him it was hard for even a blind man to miss. The constant pain, _always the pain. _It was a miracle that Prussia had not yet fallen within the abyss of insanity.

"It's nothing," red eyes, dull with fatigue met grey as Frederick supported him off the battlefield when he had collapsed from the strain of the seemingly endless fight, "You worry too much about me…We'll win in the end. Who are they compared to our army's awesomeness?"

What Prussia didn't know was how desperately his king had clung to his words- like a drowning man clinging on a thread. Because if they did lose this war, then all sacrifice would have been in vain- and all the pain suffered would be nothing compared to the inevitable fate ahead of defeat.

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><p><strong>002: Family<strong>

As his nation, Prussia naturally knew much about Fritz- not everything but, being one of his closest relations and all (the kid was always so secretive and aloof), enough to know that there was something wrong with the situation when Principessa stopped in midplay and the melody did not resume its course. It was a clear, bright summer morning complete with cloudless blue skies and warm sunbeams that casted themselves through ornate windows and onto the immortal man that served as the audience to the flautist- who was generally more lost in the airy trills of his playing to pay much attention to anything else. For Frederick, the flute was easily one of the most valued objects in his life, something that he had enjoyed as much as his father, the king, hated. Usually, he would relish all the time he could spend with the instrument when he could, so what had happened? A change of heart, an utter lack of stimulation or something that Gilbert could not name? It was odd really, and to be frank- it was hard not to feel some bewilderment at the whole affair.

"What's the matter?" the albino raised an eyebrow and voiced his concern as the prince set the instrument down, an obvious frown of discontent on his face that left Prussia in slight doubt as he studied his charge. The expression he wore was akin to a person's who had bitten down into an unripe grapefruit, a scowl usually reserved for when he was forced by his father to attend a Tabagie or something similar to that. It was something short of a grimace, but something more then a simple pull of the lips. It certainly meant something though, and truly, the soldier was quite curious.

Fritz brushed his fingers along the flute's row of keys,"It is nothing, and there is no need to fuss over me, Gilbert." As he spoke, he avoided the nation's eye and did not elaborate. Prussia however, did not miss the slight glance that was made to where Wilhelmina's portrait hung on the wall, nor the slight shadow that appeared on his features thereafter.

Ah. So that was the reason.

Raising from his chair and faintly wincing as he realized his legs had fallen asleep, the white haired man walked over to where Fritz stood and thought over his words for a brief moment before he asked, "It's about Wilhelmina, isn't it? You know you can tell me anything Fritz. Keeping it in only serves to more unawesome misery when you can't really hold it back anymore."

There was a slight pause before the prince let out a bitter laugh and turned his head away from the immortal man, anger flashing briefly across his features before his face reverted to its impassive blank.

"He's trying to turn my own sister against me, Prussia. What have I done to the king that made him treat me so?" If he had any less self control, Prussia was sure that he would have spit disgustedly on the polished floor. Frederick's tale of woe was far from anything new to his country. Even the lowest fools were capable of seeing the tension between heir and and his father- the tension that frequently transformed into explosions that left storm clouds that dominated the so called _royal house _for days thereafter, until the next ensured. Stranded between the two forces where people who would much rather have no involvement in the affair- namely, Wilhelmina being one. Between court plots and political schemes- diplomatical delicacies that could result in war if one party heard the wrong thing uttered or such whatnot- the palace was a nice cover up for a second hell but on earth. Fritz's perpetual hatred for it was not exactly hard to decipher amongst other things.

"And such is the way of the world," Prussia said, shaking his head, "Your father is an ass that sprouts crap that does not make any sense to any but him. I hate all this unreasonable shit too...but what can we both do?" he nearly grinned sardonically at these words. It was after all, Fritz who had bought some areas of philosophy within his field of interests, as unawesome as he had originally viewed it.

"Prussia-" the prince's words were cut short as his nation laid a firm pat on his shoulder, as if to reassure him of the better.

"Have some faith in your sister. She won't be swayed so easily- with you two being so close," Gilbert said in an assuring tone, "And you'll have the awesome me by your side, no matter what happens. Now go play for me, Fritz. I think the music will do good for the both of us."

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><p><strong>003: Uniform<strong>

If one were to ask Prussia why he never wore anything but his prefered military uniform, he would have a multitude of replies usually combined with various bits of language stuck inbetween that would have made even the worst sailor cry.

He wasn't even the least bit tolerable to the "lacy shit" that somehow has taken over everyone's mind, he would say with a scowl, or the French imported crap that has now dominated the majority of anyone who could afford it- and ran after it like drunken men after whores. Being the hardened soldier he was, he could never bring himself to do what disgusted him- to stand in front of a mirror for hours on end, wasting time for utterly no reason at all for the pointless objectives stated.

What the majority of the public didn't know was how much the uniform meant to him as a _nation_. It was what his people wore as they marched into battle- some of them never to return, the others scarred either internally or externally for the rest of their lives. It was what was worn by him personally too, in those endless wars fought for bloody acres- and more often then not, it _was _stained with gore that matched the crimson orbs that danced up above- snapping fires of maniacal joy as his enemies died one by one before him.

As much as he didnt believe in anything sentimental, his uniform meant a lot to him. It was what shaped him as a nation, and would continue to do so, for he knew war- if not anything else. _Prussia _wasn't a damned sissy that sat around drinking tea and fixing his hair. Prussia was a soldier- and a fucking awesome one at that too.

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><p><strong>004: Shower<strong>

It was honestly a delusion, he would try to convince himself on days when the constantly nagging guilt that burned itself through his stomach became too great to bear. Only it wasn't- as much as he tried to tell himself it was- but only stark reality that he came to face with. Sometimes he could still see the blood on his hands- and hear the blast of the gun, quickly silencing the screams- only to fall back to the present world a split second later. They were defenceless civilians, all. Even children weren't spared on orders from the high command. It wasn't right, any of this- and sometimes the guilt would be too much. Those were the times when he would find himself absently muttering apologies, pleads for forgiveness to the ghosts that refused to leave him alone.

_He was a murderer._

It was normal routine for him to take a shower now and then, but eventually- each time when he would look in the mirror to check his familiar reflection, he felt like there was something amiss, something overlooked- as though he was still unclean. He had then scrubbed himself until his skin was raw and bleeding, but the feeling of discontent did not vanish.

It only then did he see how deep he had fallen in the fires of sin. It wasn't his body that was dirty- it was his soul that was tainted. Each person killed in that ruthless, merciless, inhumane way killed off also each time, a part of him as well. It wasn't a war anymore. Just backstage, this game of mass murder was being held, and he had already dirtied his hands too much to turn back.

He does not want forgiveness, because he knows he deserves none. He deserves nothing now, after seeing what he had become.

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><p><strong>005: Hands<strong>

Hands, as saying goes- when looked over, can tell a story of that person's life.

Prussia's hands are one's of a soldier, the one's of a man who had to fight for everything he gained. They are lined with calluuses, rough, scarred and weathered from the centuries before from fighting for surival against his powerful neighbours and wielding a sword just as old (he still has it hanging in his room). They tell of hardships, and surely enough, they are not the hands of a scholar. Gilbert does write- his entire library of journals lay as proof- but he is not accustomed to a pen, not the other delicacies of life that could be held by the fingers. His world is stained with blood and bound by iron- he has seen too many die to retain anymore, that degree of innocence found even in most people's hearts. But then again, he is not human and he does not have the leisure of mortality. He is a nation that that to battle the whole world just for the question of his existence, the world and other strong, overshadowing countries to avoid being devoured whole. His struggle to live is all too well shown, if one were to look at his worn hands.

Fritz's hands tell another story. They are not worn, nor calloused, nor tough like Prussia's. His hands are musical and fit for holding a quill to write in, and for turning the pages of the books he held so close in his regard. His flute is his muse, and enlightened philosophy sets a frame for most of his outlook on life, but even then- he retained a streak of sarcasm and defiance that even Gilbert looked onto with pride. He never had to hold a weapon with the purpose of coating it others' split blood of his own making. His hands are not yet of a man's like his nations. They are too unworn, too fragile, too soft to be of comparison.

So, Gilbert never expected to see those hands pick up a sword- hands which before, he had only thought useful for reading and writing and the arts. But they do, and when they do- he cannot describe that sense of burning pride envelops him when he and Fritz ride into Silesia, leading their armies together. Suddenly, he sees a whole new side to his charge that he had never seen before, one that he never thought even exsisted. Fritz was not just a Frenchified philosopher and musician- he was a soldier too, and his Prussian blood was hardly neglected under the layers of French embroidery. His hands and their labour both made Prussia great, made Prussia felt as powerful as he had been in his old days as a Teutonic Knight- an era that he before thought would never return.

Prussia likes Fritz's hands. He and his leader's interlock like perfect piece in a long scattered jigsaw, symbolizing something that was both quite trivial- and also of something much, much more. Those hands tell a story, and quite an awesome to add.

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><p><strong>006: Fashion<strong>

"Don't even start with that crap, Fritz." the albino nation scowled, "I utterly refuse-"

"And I utterly refuse to let you wear your uniform when we are at the Versailles court. We do _not _want them thinking that Prussia is a nation of uncivilized, uncouth warmongers." his king folded his arms, with only the years of diplomatical experience and military discipline keeping the irritated mood from settling on the blank of his face. True, Gilbert was close to everything he could ask for in a man- witty, charming looks, easy going enough to take a joke, a tactical genius...but sometimes his stubbornness as _Prussia _really did grow to be quite the thorn in the bed of roses- and did in fact, annoy Frederick to no end. He could not comprehend any reason why the immortal man avoided proper clothes like the plague, except because of perhaps, the adamant frovolity that he was demonstrating right now. It was taking a toll- in fact, the king's patience thinned away with every passing second that elapsed.

"Must I get on my knees and beg?" grey eyes were pleading at opposing crimsons, "I am trying to reason, but you turn a blind eye at me! What do I have to-"

"Stop." Prussia stood up- a sneer oh his face, "Reason? _Reason?_ I'm sick of all of this. Everytime I listen to people talk, it's in French. Everything I read is in French. _Everyone I see tries to be French._ I'm a fucking _Germanic_ nation, not a country of _wannabe frogs_!" His hands shook at his sides from the force it was taking to keep them still , "Leaving hair long and then curling it like idiots! Where the hell did that comefrom?- _oh wait, France, I forgot. _Lacy crap here, ribbons there, goddamned flowers everywhere...I hate it all! We're Prussians- _not Frenchies!_"

There was a moment of silence after his rant, and both ended up being at a loss for words, instead- letting the bird song in the gardens fill in the void. Eventually, Frederick sighed and took the white hands into his own- and brushed his fingers along both.

"It's for the good of all of us." he said firmly, "Besides my point, I must say that I think what you otherwise dub as _lacy crap_ would actually be _better _for you."

There was a loud crash as Prussia absently knocked his chair over in his march towards his king's post in outrage, questioning his motives.

"You're making this bigger then it really is," Fritz replied, a half smile on his face, "So I am honestly considering just going by myself. Voltaire would be excellent company- considering he has plans to travel back to -"

"_Voltaire_?" If it was possible, the albino turned a few shades paler, "_He's _going with you?"

"I will ask him if you are going to continue acting difficult. This time wasted here certainly could go towards something more productive..." he trailed off.

Prussia was the one to sigh this time, and sat down again, fiddling with his hands as he pondered one situation to another. Between lace and Fritz in the company of his most hated Frenchman, the former was definetely the lesser of the two evils. His king could always read him like an open book to his displeasure, but was always strangely oblivious to the nation's hatred (and jealousy) of the poet. Though unknownst to him, Frederick had just played all his cards correctly.

"I...I will never understand how you manage to tolerate all of this, " Prussia said reluctantly, "Frogs and their verse, frills and lace, woe begotten _fashion _and other unawesome shit..." he closed his eyes, " Alright, Fritz- you've won this one- but _only this one!_"

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><p><strong>007: Violence<strong>

The force of the cane that was swung down and missed Frederick's head by a mere inch proved suffincient enough to seemingly produce a crack in the wall behind the prince- who was at this point, too terrified for his life to restrain his screams. At least they, if nothing else, gave a voice to the pain being inflicted. His shoulders and sides throbbed with agony form the blows that did hit before, areas surely to have formed the already too familiar bruises by tomorrow, if they hadn't already. He was helpless in the storm of his father's rage, even if he had done absolutely nothing at all to anger the king (excepting just _to live_, and Fritz was all too aware that his own existence was the pretext for all of this).

"You foppish dog!" Frederick William's roar was loud and menacing enough to frighten even the largest bloodhound. Sure enough, no one had ever dared to ever back talk the tyrant when he was in one of his rages- leaving the prince to face the same orderal again and again, too fearful for their own lives. Sometimes Fritz found it amazing how he was not yet beaten to death by his monster of a father in times like this- unable to defend himself against the torrent of abuse that was constantly hurled his way.

"Speak up!" the king barked, his own eyes lit with the clouds of insanity, "You worthless excuse for a son...cowardly, effeminate, without a single virtue in your pocket. I would sooner trade- are you crying? Even a pig has more worth then your pathetic carcass! Had I been treated this way by my father, I would have tried to run away a thousand times!"

The words cut in like wounds from a thousand knives. As much as Fritz tried to convince himself he didn't care, they still hurt more then all the flesh wounds that the cane had ever sought put together. He was a sobbing mess on the floor- praying for all this to just stop, the nightmare that refused to clear. Only it was never answered, to no big surprise. God had never turned a blind eye anywhere near him. Why was he the target for all of this? _Why?_

He didn't have more time to think as he saw the cane come smashing down again- and he could do nothing except to close his eyes and wait for the pain to come. Only it never did- and the prince dared to look up a tense second thereafter, his grey orbs widening with both fear and unhindered shock at seeing the figure who stood in front of him, shielding him from the burning wrath of his father.

"Run, Fritz." Prussia ordered- his voice barely holding the anger that Frederick felt him radiate- as menacing as a demon's from Hell, "I'll deal with him."

"Prussia-"

"_I said, go!_" he whipped his head around, and his expression alone was enough to make the teenager flinch with terror. His dear nation was angry- more angry then Frederick had ever remembered seeing him.

Something snapped in the prince then, and he bolted for the door, ignoring the yells of Frederick William that followed him. He faintly saw something sail overhis head, but gave it no thought as he fled down the halls, pushing aside servants, his own limbs numb with horror. Later, he would cringle with guilt as he heard the screams again, but of a different voice, closely followed by the cracks of the cane- wielded in his father's merciless hand as it broke every single bone it struck of the immortal man's body.

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><p><strong>008: Laughter<strong>

Germany could not recall the last time his brother laughed without strain- or really, laughed at all. The Gilbert who lived in his house was now a changed man after the war that had cost them both so much. No longer a nation- and then forced to the USSR for a little over fourty years, Prussia was a shell of what he once was more then anything. No longer did red eyes snap with that familiar malicious joy for life, and that trademark smirk that had always graced his face in earlier years had all but faded to nothing. He didn't talk much now- nor ate or slept much as well. Frequently, Germany had to wake him up in the midst of the night from those consistent nightmares that haunted him now more then ever.

Prussia never spoke about them, and his brother never probed harder then he could. His time at Russia's house was business of his own, and Germany knew that better then anyone- but it didn't stop the flow of guilt to the already overflowing well. He was the one to have caused all of this, and it was the albino who took all the consequences left behind. Worst if all- there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing at all.

It hurt him more then anything to see his brother- once so powerful and strong to be reduced to this: an ex-nation soon to become just another forgotten name in history. Germany did not want anything else in the world besides his old brother back- even at the expense of his own life. He missed the jokes, the sarcasm, the vigour...

But most of all, he missed the familiar sound of Prussia's laughter echoing through the house that made Prussia _Prussia._ He wanted his brother back, but there was nothing that would comply, and he was responsible for this. It was _him _that brought all this upon his brother- _all of it_.

_Forgive me, mein bruder_... he would often think, _I'm sorry for all of this..._

But yet, it would change nothing. Not even if the words were repeated a thousand times over, and that fact- both were too well aware of...

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><p><strong>009: Intimacy<strong>

They had never made it public, for who would? Frederick was the king of the nation, expected to followed and make an example of what was both politically and morally correct. Prussia's status was unknown to any except for his ruler and his most trusted advisors. Their relationship would be frowned upon and knocked over- and the mere political barrier between them barred such a thing from ever taking place. It would jeopardize the king's position in court, national and international. Both would be scorned, both would be made a joke by the general public- despite Fritz's position, or Prussia's fierce loyalty.

The power of the masses exceeded that of any ruler, no matter how powerful he be- and both knew and understand that as well as they understood the difference between black and white.

The quietness of their relationship publicly disguised quite well what lay behind the small smiles, the occasional brushing of hands, or a rare embrace- lust, love, promises of intimacy that would always be granted, and the wholly of their relation as a whole...

But away from other eyes, it was another story. Then, the _Ich liebe dich's_could finally be said, kisses gladly given- or willingly received. Passionate nights were many in between- small pockets of time when they wandered away from reality to give as much as each took, and both sated each other's needs to the fullest of his ability before collapsing to the embrace of the mattress as sleep would then take over.

Both did not complain about this way of life. It was their's- and no one else's. For king to nation, for lover to lover- they were happy, for they had each other, and _that _was more then enough for everything.

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><p><strong>010: Visit<strong> [**PruAus**]

_~1864~_  
><em><br>"What are _you _doing here, Prussia?"_

"_Guess since you're so smart, Specs. And don't flaunt your airs with me. I wouldn't even step into this place if I had to eat dog shit on any other occasion."_

_"You are the most insufferable ass I had the pleasure of meeting."_

_"Aw, geez. Thanks for the comment. It's why I love you, ya know."_

"_Why-"_

_"Shut up! Not when the awesome me is speaking! Calm down a little, Specs. I'm not here for a love confession, if that was what you were hoping for."_

_"..."_

_"Denmark, figure it out from there."_

_"I know of the situation, but I was under the assumption that there was mutual hatred between us."_

_"It's not my idea. Bismarck made me. he told me to be nice to you or some unawesome bullshit like that."_

_"...do you seek an alliance with me or not?"_

_"I have to. Not really a choice here."_

_"Must you be so annoying every time?"_

_"Me? A-annoying? Kesesese...look at yourself, Roddy. You pretty much brand that on your pretty ass forehead."_

_"Silence yourself-"_

"..."

_"What...what in God's name was that?"_

_"Spain used to say so many things about you, little master. Hm. I see you don't exactly live up to what he claimed..."_

_"..."_

_"You're quite unawesomely red. Do-"_

_"__Get out of my house, Prussia."_

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><p><strong>Well, that was fun to write, and a pain in the ass to edit. I swear, my spelling would render England to die if he ever picked out the little mistakes in all of them. As this was a redone version, I edited out all my wording errors, re wrote "Family" because it was really bad before, and got rid of "Amnesia"- as it was just horrible to read through- replacing it with "Hands", which was something intended for the unpublished prompts of 31-40, was instead put here. The AN was also rewritten, if you ever even read it.**

**Pain ** **Aww...Prussia...(*sad face*). I was wondering how to beign the oneshots and this turned out to be the best one. Fritz/Prussia is an awesome pairing. Shame we don't see it more ofter... Anyway. Considering the impressive number of campaigns Fritz orchestrated, it must have cause Prussia a lot of pain considering the amount of people that had died on the Prussian side (10% of total after the Seven Years' War). He must have felt pretty guilty.**

**Family: ****True facts- Frederick William did in fact, try to seperate Fritz from his favourite sister, Wilhelmina. Also, Fritz utterly _loved _playing the flute- so I used the two facts and Prussia to make the oneshot. Prussia's oddly thoughtful in the drabble, you might have noticed. I personally don't think he's that narcissistic _all _the time, especially as a guardian like figure- and towards Fritz. **

**Uniform: ****Prussia must have hated the clothes back then, being Prussia...heh. Just had to voice his thoughts on the matter.**

**Shower: ****I really wanted about what Prussia would have felt like during the Holocaust. He obviously didn't support Hitler and all his "race theories", being albino and awesome like he is. So shooting children...he must have beaten himself up about that. I really do feel sorry for him when my headcanon starts racing around.**

**Hands: I have to say, I liked this prompted infinetly more then "Amnesia"- which of course, has been scrapped out of this chapter due to issues like for one, it was rushed and horribly written. I got this idea when I was daydreaming in French class (it's where I get all my ideas) and I ended up really liking how it turned out.**

**Fashion: ****Kesesese~ Oh, how I just love torturing you, Prussia! Fritz's reverse psychology does absoloute wonders- and this is especially hilarious since he did it all unawaringly.**

**Violence: ****Frederick William was a huge dick as a father- he beat Fritz up so bad for his entire life that he had tried to run away at one point to England. Unfortunetly, it didn't exactly work out...but that will be covered in a later drabble. Seriously. Be grateful that your dad isn't an out of control asshole like Fritz's was.**

**Laughter: T****he Soviet Union absoloutely changed Prussia. It's just sad to write about. (sighs)**

**Intimacy: ****Just so it is clear, Prussia's official religion was Protestant, and due to that...relationships involving the same gender weren't tolerated that well- especially if one side of it was the frickin' king of the nation. I seriously doubt they would have made the relationship public, considering Frederick was technically cheating on his wife as well...**

**Visit: ****That was well..._awesome. _I think it's clear what Prussia did so I will leave it for you to figure that bit out! Anyway, this is before Prussia and Austria marched into Denmark to regain that state (Schleswig-Holstein) that Denmark annexed from the German Confederation without notice. Go on Wikipedia if you are curious.**

**_PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW! DANKE!_**


	2. Prompts 11 to 20

**A/N: I am sorry I have not updated in such a long time. I lost all my drabbles in moving to a new place, and you had no idea how mad I was then...so ja, do excuse me. But- without any further ado, here are prompts 11-20...**

**Again, a review would be much appreciated!**

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><p><strong>011: Religion<strong>

One thing that Prussia never really understood too well about his ruler was the fascination that he found within books. Old Greek classics, Roman epics. and Gott forbid- _Voltaire_, all in French and not a single one in German, which really stuck in his side like an irritable thorn. What was so good about France anyway that made him more awesome then Prussia? Nothing, that was what- but half the world was in apparent love with him and none more so then Frederick. Sometimes it really wore on the Germanic nation how his king failed to appreciate the gifts of his homeland as opposed to the one of a sniggering blond's hundreds of miles away...but he did have to admit that he resembled more or less- a rude, classless soldier compared to some of the people that Fritz sought out. D'Argens, Algarotti, Jordan, others related that Gilbert Weillschmidt could not really match...it...it would have kinda hurt if he had been less awesome and more emotional, so it didn't. Nope. Didn't matter a bit. Nada. Nothing.

He turned his gaze upon one of the towering shelves of dusty volumes that now loomed above him, absently wondering how much the room held. Running his fingers down the length of a dusty spine, the albino scowled and then spun on his heel- retreating back to his original post. Damn. He felt claustrophobic by just looking around him, and the walls seemed to be closing in. The bright morning outside looked more then inviting- in fact, if Prussia had a choice, he wuld have gladly sprang out through one of those windows to the world beyond Fritz's library. It wasn't the fact that he hated literature or the place. It was the fact he hated virtually everything French, and _anything _to do with Voltaire. the infamous language of the frogs really depressed him, or either that- pissed him off. It was doing a brilliant job of both as of the moment.

Prussia found his king laying down on a couch in a corner, a half frown on his face as he leafed through a battered book before sighing , closing the volume. He mulled over something in his head before snapping back to reality and realizing that his country was leaning against the doorframe, eyebrow raised.

"What's up? It's not common for you to be all depressed in here," the immortal man innocently questioned, "Pray, is reading finally getting old- or just French?"

"No, It's nothing. I was just thinking about...matters." Frederick put the book on a nearby table, not before his nation saw the title. _L'Ecriture sainte_? Interesting. He had thought beforehand that his king hated anything to do with religion. What had bought that topic up?

He threw himself down on a chair, red eyes glinting as he settled his head on a gloved hand. Gilbird chirped from its perch on the albino's tricorn, nibbling at the plumes before it flew to Fritz's head and settled down in the other man's locks- to its owner's amusement.

"The Bible?" Prussia remarked, " _Die Gotterdammerung_ finally settling in that head of yours? Ha. Nevermind. Tell the awesome me what's been kicking around."

Fritz absently patted the bird, which closed its eyes, content, "One would almost find it laughable. I have been wondering lately about divine intervntion and such related affairs. The exsistence of God, Satan, Heaven and Hell...and well, death, I suppose. Not-" he added as he saw Gilbert's alarmed expression, "because I want to kill myself! It's just the topic of religion that has been buzzing around lately. The Bible seems to have nothing to answer my questions."

He fell silent, and for awhile- they did not speak. Prussia broke the quiet after some moments: "That's not an easy question to answer, especially for someone who's ditched the religious streak. I mean yes- I am immortal, et cetera, et cetera, but Fritz- what you're wondering is something that we all think about, especially us nations. Come on, is it by chance that I was born this way? Or...was it maybe the decree of some higher power? I don;t know, and perhaps I'll never know."

Grey eyes looked up, puzzled, "So..."

"I think," Prussia said slowly, "We can only do what we can do in this world. If there is a Gott, or if there isn't one, then we still have to live, right? And- even if there is one, then we can't really fucking say that he's too good of one all the time." the albino winced as a memory of Tannenberg came back from misty strongholds, "Rather then pinning for divine help, we should only believe in ourselves, not anyone up there to sort out all our problems for us. From the time when I was born to now, which was quite a long time- I still haven't found the answer to that damned question yet. All we can do is trust our instincts and live awesomely while we still do, I suppose... And- uh...yeah. Don't start thinking too much on rhetorical shit like that. Waste of time, to be frank." he finished rather lamely, trailing off at the end. Frederick's brow was creased in mental deliberation as he took the albino's words in, lips parted in thought. Then, the king nodded once and softly smiled before speaking again.

"I suppose you do have a point, _geliebte_. But still, we all live on these things to fill our time, do we not? it is either religion or science. Perhaps I will remain a doubter forever." he sardonically added.

Prussia grinned as he stood up and stretched out his sore limbs, scratching the back of his head and then sighing in content. Outside, the sunbeams managed to find themselves shining through the windows of Sans Souci, bathing the room in light. He walked over to his ruler and, after receiving a fond kiss on warm lips said, "Don't worry about it, _schatzchen_. Leave that to the church and all the others out there for that purpose. You're still alive, and you're going to be here for sometime yet. Plus," he chuckled at the pun, "Heaven's an open door to you. I'd bet my awesome immortal soul on that."

Soft laughter was joined by Gilbird's enthusiastic chirps as Prussia snuggled closer Fritz in the other's lap. He didn't really give anymore about religion these days, but his Heaven was right here. Not anywhere in the skies, but right here with Fritz- and only Fritz.

* * *

><p><strong>012: Distance<strong>

He didn't know when these insensible cravings began- but that didn't matter now. What did was the fact that they exsisted, and Frederick feared also, that he was going insane. Tranquil nights turned into sleepless ones, and meetings where once, the prince paid a glad open ear to, he was now spacing out into obliviation on a regular basis- no matter how hard he had tried to focus. All of this though, was _nothing _next to those nights stated, where thoughts of a certain albino called Gilbert refused to leave him alone. And those thoughts that his mind involuntarily produced, he was honestly ashamed to even look upon. They were lust filled fantasies, sinful, degrading, and yet- they always lured him further in until he was all but lost in erotic illusion.

How would those lips feel under his? Or that pale figure he so wanted to ravish and make his own? Would Prussia plead? Beg for Fritz's touch as he _fucked _his nation senseless until they became one?

Sometimes the prince did disgust himself- but these lusts were all justified, as he tried to reason with his own counciousness. Frederick was twenty four, horomonal and deprived. Prussia looked all in all, as gorgeous as an angel from the heavens in his eyes- which devoured every image they held of the other man's splendor like a starving prisoner upon food. Each glance at the pair of crimson oceans only fueled more thoughts, more desires that he has tried to keep contained, and barely too. He didn't get himself, how it was possible to fall into a situation as complicated and confusing as this one. The thought of having an intimate relationship with the nation he was one day supposed to rule over drove him in maddening circles more then anything else. Prussia was killing him everyday without him even knowing it.

So naturally, Fritz tried to distance himself from the albino, hoping that the course of action would kill off the desire. _That _was an understatement, really. The prince avoided Prussia like the plague for as long as he could manage per day, everyday, and eventually, even his nation noticed that there was something amiss.

"Look, _Frederick_," Prussia confronted him one day in the gardens, "I'm a lot of things, but certainly not stupid. You're avoiding me. I think I at least have the right to know why."

The hurt and anger in the nation's eyes hit Frederick with the force of a cannon. _I'm sorry! _he wanted to say, _I did not want any of this._The hours spent playing the flute with Gilbert as his audience was replaced by wandering through the grounds of the palace as he tried to recollect some sense in his numb state of mind, but to no avail. Their reserved slots of time where he and the albino would go riding together stopped on the excuse of paperwork- which for once, he actually did without distain. Whenever Prussia asked if he was free, the prince would reply that he was busy, even though his inner self was screaming at him to reconsider. He was an utter coward- and he knew he was one, but he didn't tell Prussia. Hell, he didn't even know if his nation was into men as well as the women he always went after.

"I beg your pardon?" the prince replied coldly, his mask in place- blank and frigid, "I see no reason why you should think of such nonsense. Excuse me now, Prussia. I believe I need to get back to overseeing the soldiers."

He was praying for the albino to stop him as he walked away, trying to blot out the injured face from his mind's eye. Only he never did, and never even said a good bye, leaving Fritz to wander to some other deserted place, trying to prevent tears from spilling over- tears that haven't been seen since the day Katte died.

He wondered how much longer he could keep this all up, this wrenched play that was costing him his sanity.

* * *

><p><strong>013: Diligence<strong>

The sight of the man alone was enough to make Prussia smirk with the backing of all the demons of the circle of wrath. Austria was there, just a few meters from him, always as always with that mask in place- the very one that the albino wanted to shatter and cast into the spirals of obliviation. He was such a contrast to the army behind him. Impassive, haughty, clothed in white with sabre held high above him, sunlight reflecting off cold metal that gave him the look of one that was not quite human, but not quite angelical either.

The thought made him nearly burst out into laughter. They were, after all- immortal. They were not human, because if they were, then they would have for sure already have been damned and cast into the lowest levels of Hell. Austria looked human, but he was not human. Inside, he was just as much of a monster- a demon- as Prussia himself was.

The denial of such would make victory all the more sweeter.

"You traitor of a nation," the brunet's voice was cold with anger, only providing more fuel for the flames of Prussia's glee," I should have known. You couldn't even keep your worthless word for longer then twenty seven years."

"And do you think I care, little master?" red eyes openly taunted narrowed violets as they approached each other, even their horses terrified from the wrath the two immortals were radiating, "You know better then anyone to construct a political gamble, and yet you couldn't see the obvious right in front! Woe be on you, Austria! We don't want a _woman_ on the throne- and this land will never be yours again!"

Their two armies charged against each other, metal clashing on metal, bullets flying through the smoke smothered air. And at the center of it all were the two nations. Prussia, eyes like the ones of a devil, ruthlessly slamming down his blade and repelling his opponent's like how a man would counter a toy. Austria, barely withstanding, powerless against the Prussian assault.

"You've grown so weak, little master..." the albino hissed," So, so weak. Silesia is mine, _and only mine!_"

* * *

><p><strong>014: Swimming<strong>

"Prussia, I-"

"No, Fritz."

"But-"

"_I said no!_" the albino snapped, refusing to move from his ground, a few feet away from the riverbank. He shifted, uncomfortable to the extreme near the rushing water- much to the amusement of his prince who stood behind him with a hint of a small smile flickering across his lips. After all, who knew that Prussia- the egotistic nation who never hesitated to declare his self proclaimed awesomeness was afraid of a petty thing like _swimming _out of all things? It was humorous to even think about in Frederick's mind.

"It will be fine," he reassured the immortal man, "We are just wading through the water- nothing dangerous."

As if to prove his point, he kicked off his riding boots, rolled up his pants, and steppted into the river. The water was warmed up by the good weather- and Fritz found it quite comforting to have the currents brush by his knees. It was a pleasant day overall, with the sun high up in the cloudless summer sky- a rare occasion where he had sucessfully managed to sneak away from the stuffy palace with his dear nation alongside him, who was now eyeing the river as if it was a vat of poison and nothing else.

"I'll hold your hand," Fritz tried again, "And if you are still uncomfortable, we will leave, I promise. Just please give it a try."

Lids fluttered over red eyes as Prussia closed them and sighed, uncertainty written all over his face. The other was right. It was just water. Just harmless water. he grabbed onto the outstretched hand, his legs literally numb with panic as he stepped from the safe earth, not seeing the grimace of pain that flashed across Frederick's features as his nation's crushing iron grip settled, but didn't complain.

_It's just water...just water..._Prussia gulped as he felt a powerful current rush by his legs, _You can't die anyway. get over it. It's just a fucking river._

He opened his eyes slowly, ignoring every command his brain was sending to his body to flee from the situation. He couldn't feel his limbs- and his posture was so stiff it was like as if he were made of wood and not flesh. A drop of cold sweat trickled down the side of his face. He couldn't remember the last time fear had him held between its clutches so tightly, not even as bullets flew towards him and swords tried to pierce him in the midst of war. It was both stupid and unawesome really, all of this...

The albino repressed a shudder before he forced his vision to focus to realty- and his smiling prince who patted him firmly on his shoulder.

"Now, now. That wasn't so bad, was it? I will though, ask you to loosen your grip. I fear my hand is er..._being crushed_."

* * *

><p><strong>015: Instinct<strong>

It had to be that Katte kid. That much Prussia would bet his money on without a second blink of his eye, for was the only reasonable explanation out there of why the seventeen year old Fritz currently wore the look of a half addled milk maid in the stark middle of Frederick William's court.

In truth, he had noticed it a long while past- the slight off key in the prince's usually impassive deamour, which was more or less, one of a fourty year old man's more then anything in the eye of the public. Always the aloofness, the distance, the cold politeness- so obviously, a lack of complete demonstartion of the stated set off alarm bells on the nation's head. Winter skies would cloud over, distancing themselves from reality and rather reattaching onto an entirely different field of focus, a trace of colour floating through the mist halls of daydream. He would drift off here and there, go on endless walks through the gardens day and night, and wouldn't even snap out of the illusion even when confronted with a direct question by Prussia, who was the only one that seemed to notice all the going ons, as hard as Frederick tried to hide them from the rest of the world. Was it only the albino's delusion?

_That _was a definite no.

Little by little, Prussia noticed another thing as he had started then to watch the prince like a hawk for days on end out of curiosity and concern for his further well being. He was _far_from being a fool. Certainly, he was a bit of a savant- but all things accounted for, he wasn't stupid. He was it as clear as night upon day that the haze around Fritz would vanish whenever von Katte was in the same room as him, and the two would laugh and talk with no traces of the distant hollow around. And- whenever the other left, it would return again to haunt him once more.

One look at the thinly veiled desperation behind liquid walls when he met the grey eyes of his prince only confirmed his lingering suspicions, which grew larger as day by day passed into obliviation.

Oh Gott. Fritz was _lovesick_. More lovesick then Prussia had ever seen _anyone. _And really, despite all circomstances, it was quite hilarious to behold.

* * *

><p><strong>016: Forest<strong>

Although he didn't want to admit it- because really, he was just too attached to his own pride- the Teutonic Knights Order was hopelessly lost, and he had been probably wandering in circles for the past few hours in vain at finding the heads and tails of this damned forest. This sucked. He was the awesome Teutonic Kinghts! Only sissies like Austria had no sense of direction, not one as cool as _him._

The albino scowled as he threw a rock in the space in front of him, aiming for really, nothing at all. How on earth was he supposed to get out of here? Gott wasn't exactly lending an open ear today either. He should have honestly had even those privilages being a religious order, out of all things. Sheesh. Talk about unfair.

His stomach growled and his feet ached, his mood dropped to such a black range that even Gilbird no longer chirped occasionally to its master up, instead- hiding further in the locks of white hair. Every tree he passed looked the same as any other, _every single one. _He couldn't tell whether he had been here a hour ago, or whether it was an entirely new area. He hated it all. Couldn't he at least have a chance at navigating this endless maze? Apparently by the looks of it, that much a blunt no, although that was not altogether surprising.

"This is pathetic," the Teutonic Knights snapped after a while, " Screw all this shit. If I were king of this place, I'd have all this crap cut down from where I stand! I've been walking for fucking hours here- "

"_Piyoo_~!" Gilbird interuppted, but the albino didn't hear it while on one of his rants- one of the most angry ones he had in a long time past.

"-and I'm getting no where! What's Gott trying to do? Haven't I done enough for him not to trash me here in this crap hole-"

"_Piyoooooo_~!"

"-with no end? Crap hole. No- worse then a crap hole-"

"Excuse me?" a voice suddenly broke his train of thought, one that the Kinghts actually heard, as cold and as clear as a chime of a bell in the morning. Whoever the speaker was, he didn't exactly sound too amused.

Instinct kicked in, really- before anything else. After less then a fraction of a split second, his sword was in his hand and he spun around to meet the intruder, a scowl alreadr entrenched on his face. Any adult would who didn't know he was a personafication would probably have hilariously absurd - a twelve year old boy holding a such a weapon. Only the other wasn't an adult and rather- a child like him. Blond hair held back in a short ponytail, narrowed blue eyes- and with a look as menacing as the Teutonic Knights', but more quiet then his outspoken.

"I hope you weren't saying things about _my _forest_, _you loud mouthed twat," the boy's glare intensified," so loud I could hear you from the other side of it. What is your problem anyway?"

"My problem? And who said this was _your _property? I can say whatever I like I like, especially if I've been trying to leave for the last ten hours! Where am I anyway?"

The blond sighed and closed his eyes, fighting the urge to give back a sharp retort. This guy was seriously pretty rude. First he trespasses and now he claimed he had a right to? Stupid barbarian.

"And why the hell should I answer that? Clearly, you are just another warmonger savage that does not have anything even resembling proper sense." blue eyes flickered to the darkening sky," Well, good bye. I see no further reason to bother with you."

With those words, he turned on his heel and walked off, indifferent to what had transpired- and ignoring the Knights' protest from behind. Ach. Annoying barbarian. Couldn't he be quiet for just a second? It was already bringing on a headache...

"Hey! Hey- damn you, don't walk away from the awesome me!" the albino managed to grab onto the blond's arm, "Look- I don't give a shit, but suppose you get me out of here, then I'll never come back again, 'kay? Come on. I'm the awesome Teutonic Knights! I need to get back to the Order or else the old man'll get really pissed off...!"

And so, the other boy sighed and closed his eyes. It wasn't likely that he was going to be left alone if he did refuse...and he didn't want to be stalked for the rest of the day. And besides...the guy said something about never coming back, right...? Maybe they could in fact, get along. Providing that he could stop whining for a second, of course.

"Very well," the blond complied, "Follow me if you want the exit route...whilst holding your tounge for a few moments, please_. _And you can call _me_... _Brandenburg_."

(Little did he know, they would in fact, meet again- and that time when come- under totally different circumstances.)

* * *

><p><strong>017: Chocolate [PruAus]<strong>

Austria watched with something akin to disgust as Prussia ate the last slice of the once whole chocolate cake and licked the plate, drowning everything down with yet another glass of wine. His own plate was empty- and always was since the beginning. He had been so utterly mortified and fascinated both by the albino's utter lack of table manners and his bottomless stomach he didn't even eat a single bite of the food. And now the other nation was turning to the stack of pastries beside the now empty cake pan, cramming them inside his mouth like a starved convict.

Quite frankly, the brunet did not know what to make of it.

"To the awesome victory over _Dänemark!" _the ablino raised his glass with a slightly shaking hand - a lopsided grin on his face, "V_erdammt noch mal, _Specs. You're acting like we just lost the war- not fucking kicked the bastard's ass...then again, I seriously don't give a crap."

As if to prove his point, the liquor disappeared within a matter of seconds down Prussia's throat- the sweet sinful liquid slightly drawing on a cough as it faintly burned on its way down to his stomach. He would have reached for the bottle for another shot had not Austria suddenly grabbed onto his wrist and plucked it out of his grasp while he still had not yet comprehended the situation- his senses having dulled due to the sheer amount of alcohol he had consumed. The brunet frowned as he ignored the half hearted protests, and instead poured out his own rightful share.

"I see you are insistent then, on the prospect of getting drunk," the man offered a sardonic smile at his accomplice," Tell me- how is it that you still devour food like a pig even after somuch? Let me remind _you_, Prussia- that this is _my _house, and not yours. Surely you have some better behaviour-"

The Prussian snorted," You mean you're pissed off because you're a cheapsake. If you wanted me to eat nothing, they why would you put this all on display? Besides- I deserve all this, being as awesome as I am."

"I am _not _cheap.-"

"Are so," Gilbert licked some chocolate cake crumbs off his fingers before wiping them on his coat under a disapproving Austrian's eye," look Roddy, if I had worn out old boots, I would freaking trash them when new ones were avaliable. You on the other hand, would insist on wearing the old ones until the things fell apart on the dumbass excuse of, 'Oh, there's only a hole in the sole. I can just wear this in the middle of a fucking winter campaign-"

The pianist's face was stormy and his cheeks were dusted with a slight tint of pink as he slammed his glass down. Somewhat adorable- Prussia absently noted with his trademark smirk. he loved it when the other nation got angry for reasons he was not even aware much himself. Perhaps it was the way those violet eyes burned, framed with the pair of angled brows- dark lines over that mongolia white forehead. Or maybe it was the way that Austria's lips trembled as he barely manages to hold back insults that he knew would only give Prussia satasfaction as the other immortal watched his austere rival lose the self control that he valued. And Prussia did enjoy it- to such an unprecedented extent due to both amusement, and his own warped, unothordox version of the said.

He wanted to _break_ Austria, until Austria was no one but his. Through hate, through loathing, through anything he could name until the little master had acknowledged inferiority- until he was groveling at Prussia's feet, and no other way then that. Oh, how he enjoyed tormenting the one he hated so much, yet slightly loved also in the same manner as hate...though he would of course, never let the other know _that _little segment of their relationship.

"What could I ever do without you?" Red eyes glowed with a glint of malicious light as he roughly yanked the other towards him- smiling as Austria's frown deepened," Heh. Tell me,_Habsburg Empire_- what does it feel like to be on top of the world? Such a glorious, _awesome _thing it is- until you crash at the bottom and everything is gone that you had once assumed that you would forever possess, inevitable, forsaken-"

"What are you saying, Prussia?" the other country snapped," If this is one of your drunken games, I utterly refuse to be a part of it."

This made the Germanic nation laugh with the mirth of utter madness- the chilling cackle that echoing off surrounding walls. it was just so pointless, all of this. Was Austria really still that entrenched within his delusion still to not see reality? Perhaps, perhaps not. Well- he was _certainly_going to pay the price later on...

"You are a fool, my dear Roderich," Prussia hissed," You're a fool if you believe that you can still win. I want you, Austria. I want you to be beaten so bad that no one can piece you back together again except I. I want..."

The brunet's lips were cold as they met his, and yet- he did not pull away. Prussia could feel the mockery that danced behind his eyelids, of a challenge offered that he did not hesitate to accept. This was the real Austria, no longer that apathetic statue that mirrored only whatever needed to be of political interest and nothing else, the facade of arrogance that the albino longed to destroy.

_How long has it been since he had last felt like this?_

"Very well then, _Konigreich Preussen." _Austria grimly smiled, "I invite you to try and do so. Tonight I am yours and only yours. Then we shall _really _see who has _truly _broken _whom._"

And so, it begins.

* * *

><p><strong>018: Future<strong>

The most common thoughts that now perhaps crossed the king's mind were questions of the future. Perhaps it was a side effect from the old age that had settled. He certainly was not going to be around for much longer anymore, and that much he was all too well aware of. it was the curse of humanity to one day die. He accepted the ultimatum, but he was not too worried about it. What he was worried about was the affairs of the state after he had entered the grave, and what it would be like then when he was no longer alive. What would the earth be like a hundred years from now- or maybe two? How would his nation fare? Or his people? Or the rest of the world?

He wished at times, that he would be there to witness it, but obviously- that was not meant to be.

"Hey- Fritz." Prussia gently tapped his shoulder, as if he was too fragile to handle anything harder," You're spacing out."

The immortal man looked like he always had remembered him, time not having touched at all his features- which were the same as when Fritz had first laid eyes on his nation. Red irises met his own wary greys in concern as the old king set down his quill.

"Prussia." his voice was tired, more tired then the albino had ever recalled hearing it," Can you promise me this?"

His nation nodded without hesitation, holding back the guilt that had welled up inside him and threatened to break the wall that was now crumbling into ruin in so many places. He knew that Frederick's candle had almost reached its end- and he dreaded every second passing that marked the end of the final path. He still loved Fritz with all his heart, but that was causing more pain then anything he had ever experienced.

"I am aware of what Fate has in store for me," the king said with a sad smile which made Prussia's chest constirct with pain," Promise me that you will watch over my nephew and guide over him like you had guided me when I was young. Don't let yourself fall...and please..."

He said the next words so quietly Gilbert had to strain to hear them.

"I...please, do not forget me."

Suddenly, the world seemed to shrink, until it comprised of no one but them. The king who accepted reality. The nation who still refused to look at it, his tears threatening to fall out of the wells. He didn't want any of this. He didn't want Fritz to die and leave and...and...

"For the love of Gott," the albino whispered," I won't forget you, Fritz. How could I? You've been everything to me. No one can take your spot- and no one _will_- ever."

It wasn't too late yet. They still had a few years left, at least- Prussia would reflect whilst wiping his burning eyes. he would make those times count, and he would never let go of Fritz's memory after, when it was all over. Frederick was the greatest ruler he had every had, and his nation's entire world was set on his shoulders. They could be still together for a little while longer...just a while longer, until the inevitable goodbye...

* * *

><p><strong>019: Lullaby<strong>

Springs were always isomonia season for a certain albino nation, and that fact overshadowed almost always anything good about the earth's rebirth. The overwhelming flood of energy that radiated from everything around was, in fact- soothing in a way, but not when the said high spirited madness prevented him from gaining more then a few winks of sleep at night. Darkness would either be spent lying wide awake beside Fritz, resisting the urge to jump out of his skin in restlessness, or he would give in and pace for a few hours on end until the first light showed.

He hated spring. It always reduced him to something akin to an irritable old man, exhausted and nearly in half delusion everyday that passed. True, he was a nation- but even nations needed an ounce of humanity granted once in a while. Despite the beauty of Sans Souci, despite the warming weather and newly blossomed flowers, Prussia didn't give half a shit. He wanted sleep, and-_ Gott forbid_- he never got any.

Fritz noticed all too well the change in his nation from the ever forboding problem. The bloodshot eyes, the darkening bags under them, the hours spent pacing around for no reason at all and the inapproachable aura that only relected the black of his humor. The tenacious shooting sessions in a back corner of the massive gardens did not exactly suggest the brightest either, and it was only out of the king's own concern for his dearest why he countinued to order glasses by the dozen to replace the draining amount that the palace. Still though, after Prussia had nearly collapsed in the middle of the hall, Frederick decided that something had to be done. This state of limbo that the albino dangled in was bleeding them both white to the bone.

"Fritz?" red eyes flickered open for a brief second befire he recoiled from the apparent overwhelming light of the room- even as the curtains were drawn. he absently noted that he was laying on some sort of bed with covers drawn around him and his head was on the other's lap as a substitute as a pillow. What the hell had happened?

He recalled almost nothing from the gaping void that was his memory- just fatigue, dizziness, and the blur the world seemed to be at the present. He was so tired- so tired that every single limb that he had was sore and slackened, and he just wanted to crawl in a pit somewhere and huddle there.

"Hush, _geliebte," _warm fingers gently stroked his messy white locks," Shh...you are safe here. Just go to sleep..."

His hand then left Prussia's hair, to the ablino's displeasure. He knew that it was a comforting gesture- unnessacary, but soothing nevertheless. He made a small whine of protest just as Frederick chastely pecked his brow, the touch lingering as he pulled away.

"Close your eyes, _geliebte_," the king whispered," There, there...shh..."

A moment later, the music began- soft, swift notes peaking into the melody of a well known lullaby that Prussia had sang himself to Fritz when he was a child. The flute's hymm took away some of the restlessness, and for the first time in days- the world of the dreaming had come back to claim the albino in its grasp.

Frederick never got a chance to reply, because his nation had then falled asleep like a child in his lap. Instead, he only smiled, closed his own set, and dozed off into the wonders of the unconscious world along.

* * *

><p><strong>020: Photographs [A Poem]<strong>

If only we had taken pictures back then  
>Of all the good times that we had shared-<br>Whether they were of our happiness  
>Or when we were blinded by tears.<p>

But now it's all over-  
>And you've gone and gone away,<br>Your memory still lingers behind  
>But it only causes more pain.<p>

I remember when you were still around  
>Exactly what you would do...<br>Each glance, each word, anything at all-  
>Why does everything remind me of you?<p>

I fear at times that I am going mad  
>And each day I drift further away,<br>From the world we call reality  
>Where reason had once stayed.<p>

So now I stand above your grave  
>Reflecting on what had been before.<br>It had been so sweet while it lasted  
>And yet it couldn't hold anymore.<p>

If only we had taken photographs back then  
>Back when our lives were still entwined.<br>And now, there is nothing left-  
>Nothing left behind...<p>

* * *

><p>Well, it took some effort to write all that, but it was worth it in the end. I've been getting so much homework lately it's really kind of unreal... oh well. At least I am still alive, so I can post some more of this up when I get more written. In fact, I plan to do a single Christmas special for the next update- if I can get it done in time. I liked this fill (11-20) better then the last one, but I still could make some improvements for the better. Hopefully, 21-30'll be up soon!- that is, if schoolwork will allow it... but over 7200 words is quite awesome already, ja?<p>

**Religion:** I had this really random thought when I hard that my friend's Socials class were doing world religion, so I was like- hey? Why not do a oneshot with the idea? Fritz was an avid doubter. Personally, I agree with him in some ways. Why pursue something that the human mind will never understand, let alone see? **Look- if I get any flames because of this, I will be offended**. I am not trying to brainwash anyone into atheism. I am just a writer.

**Distance: **Awww...poor Fritz. However, I am pretty sure that something like this'll happen between the two of them once he started noticing his...lingering affections for his nation? Heh. Prussia must have felt horrible. Just to be clear, this is a few years after the whole Katte episode, and when his dad allowed him to return to Berlin from Kustrin.

**Dilligence: **The Silesian Wars are really another one of my addictions as of the present. Austria was really frickin' humiliated at the ends of all of 'em... ^^

**Swimming:** No, Prussia does not have a fear of water! He simply has an avid fear of rushing/rapid currents, like the ones in that perticular river. In my headcanon, he has this phobia of drowning (*coughTheBattleoftheIcecough*), I mean- we all do- but his is like _up there. _I don't really blame him though. That battle was pretty sadistical...

**Instinct:** Lt. Hans Hermann von Katte was Fritz's close friend and heavily speculated lover. According to some witness(es), they apparently carried on like "a lover and his mistress" or something related to that. I thought their relationship was very, _very _amusing- and trageic- but for now, it will be the foremer. Prussia would have had such fun times teasing his prince about the affair XD.

**Forest: **Due to one of my friend's heavy pestering, I had no choice but to write about Brandenburg (whom we nickname "March") to avoid another stream of protests. For those of you who don't know, Brandenburg was basically this strip of Hohenzollern territory within the Holy Roman Empire that later merged with Prussia proper. Ha. That meant that they were married for some time, people.

**Chocolate: **Don't...don't ask. Please don't inquire. My original intention was to write about Prussia stuffing his face but it's somehow evolved into this thing. Ach. I have a dirty mind (but don't we all).

**Future: **Wahhh...there goes my heart...(*sobs*). I got inspired by this totally angsty thing on DA about Fritz dying and I was horribly depressed. Noooo...why you die, Fritz...?

**Lullaby: **Oh Gott- the sap is killing me. I heavily editied it and it's still this sappy...please do forgive. I did think it was kind of sweet though. It seemed a total Fritz thing to do for his dearest ^^

**Photographs: **Yay for poetry. I really love the genre overall, but it seems to not be getting much appreciation anymore. Anyway- I guess this can be interpeted from a lot of different points of view. It was not really intended as a Gilbert/Fritz thing at first when I wrote it due to the fact that cameras did not exist back then, but you can decide. My intended focus was Hungary, and this is if Prussia had died after the Berlin Wall fell.

Thanks for reading, and please- do review!

here...


	3. Merry Christmas!

**A/N: As promised, here is the Christmas special. It's angsty to suit my tastes XD I was having writer's block so it's not as good, I guess- then it should have been. Still, do read and review!**

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><p><strong>021: Christmas<strong>

The night was cold, but of course- that much he had already gotten used to while being away on campaign. It was a chilling midnight of Christmas Eve- and the first flakes of snow had not yet fallen, leaving the air devoid of anything yet to add to the biting chill. The fire that blazed itself in front of him did not help too much either, but any source of warmth was welcome- so as to why some of the nearby soldiers of the Prussian encampment were desperately warming themselves around the little flare. He hung back, allowing them more space, despite the shivers that were racking down his own body. Prussia was immortal, but his people were not- and by Gott's name, enough had already suffered under the hardships of the war without needing more to add to their number, most of to be found buried in unmarked graves, never to return home. The people here, all of them- would they be still alive to tell the tale at the end of all of this- or would they just become more forgotten faces to pile onto the load that the albino already struggled to carry? It was...it was...

He unclenched his fists to discover that he had absently dug his nails into his flesh until there were naught but a line of bloody crescents on his palm to evidence his internal turmoil. The weather made it too cold to feel much except the perpetual numbness, so he did not care much about it- but, whether it was the temperature messing with his brain or of the early symptoms of upcoming insanity- he found the path of blood that had leaked from his hand most interesting to observe. It held almost a terrifying beauty to it, the trickle of crimson that ran like a red river, matching his eyes, on the white of his pale, pale skin. Perhaps it was because it echoed so much of what was to come- _the glazed eyes and the piles of his people slaughtered...blood- so much spilt blood- staining the soon to come snow..._

Oh, Gott. What the hell _was _going on with him lately? It seemed like with each waking moment, his thoughts would be occupied with nothing but ire and gore, every single damned minute that passed. He was bound to them all though, down to the very last _child. The_ great waves of sadness from his people that he was comprised of, as a nation, hardly went unfelt. It was driving him to madness, and Prussia only wondered now how soon that day would come.

"Gilbert," a voice pulled him out of his daydream, "Gilbert. Hey."

It was Fritz, looking more worn and tired then ever. The war had taxed a fair amount from him as well, and it was not lost on his nation. They had all changed in some way or the other- grown more bitter, more distant, more cold to reality. It was during miserable times of hardship when the two craved each others' company more then ever, because both knew that it was the only anchor perhaps there to keep their minds from drifting away into obliviating dementation.

"Merry Christmas," the king faintly smiled," I thought you would have forgotten, for all the butchering that has been going on."

It was ironic really, to pay homage to such trivial matters now out of all times. Christmas, he had not forgotten, but hardly mattered now in the sea of current strife. In all truth, Prussia was just happy for something to take his train of thought off of all stated for just a while to care much, if only to prolong his sanity and nothing else.

"Oh, how could I have?" his laughter sounded hollow and strained, before he stopped trying to laugh at all," I used to be a religious order. These things don't leave my awesome memory that easily."

He fell silent, for once- having not much to say. Frederick noticed, but chose not to comment. The immortal man was pensive today, but indeed- were they not all? It made his gut twist in knots to see his nation so haggard and chewn from his leader's issued ultimatum, and the guilt of watching Gilbert being chipped away painful enough on its own.

"You're shivering." grey eyes widened as they came to realization, "Good God! You barely have anything on! Come to my tent. I cannot afford to have one of my best generals ill in a situation like this."

Fritz's own overcoat was thrown around the albino's shoulders as he quickly lead the stumbling other out of the winter night. Prussia was still trembling with chills as his king layered several blankets on him and poured him some water. He shook his head at the offering, but thanked the other with a small smile regardless. Some time passed before slight warmth began to settle in, and the numbness started fading away from his sore limbs, a tranquil silence enveloping them both until some strains of _Nun danket alle Gott _reached them from the outside camp. It was comforting in a way, and the country listened for a few moments before he spoke up.

"You know, sometimes I really wonder about the point of immortality, usually during situations like this. You stop caring about a lot of things eventually, and then- you stop caring for much at all."

Frederick leaned forwards in his chair and rested his head on a hand, not before wrapping an extra layer around him as well. Prussia's little bird, he noticed, seemed to have taken refuge in a makeshift nest on its master's tricorn.

"I wonder about what it would be like to be a human. Times go by so quick and everything's so translucent you wonder about what even happened then a few years later."

His king studied his boots for a second," And I wonders what it means to be immortal. If hundreds of years go by as fast as you say, then living through them would be hardly dull."

"Fritz," Gilbert said, "You wouldn't wish ever to be one of us."

The pregnant pause stretched until the albino barked a sardonic laugh and got to his feet, waving at his king to to come along with him. The walls of the tent, for some reason- seemed to be closing in on him and crushing his person every second he decided to remain in it. No, he needed the cold air. He had a coat now anyway, so he doubted he would freeze.

"Do you know what we are, truly? All of us, my king, be it me, Piano Wuss, Frying Pan Bitch, or the Frog- all of us, we're just a collection of_ ideas_, ideas that became a personification of the wills of out people. We're really nothing more then that. We are born from the minds of men, and we will die when the idea that we credit our existence to collapses. So, we try to not let that happen. We kill each off, or we weaken rivalling nations to such an extent where they won't harm our survival. I've done things that will make you hair curl by just hearing me, Fritz." for a second, Prussia almost looked demonic, the moonlight making shadows dance across his face, "I've done everything in my power to staunch my awesome existence, but- guess what?"

"What?"

"My king, I think I'm finally losing my mind."

_Nun danket alle Gott _came to a finish, and Fritz stopped in his tracks.

"_Ja_, I think I am finally losing my mind. All I can see everyday is death. Death, death, death, death, _death. _War is like that, I know- but I fear that one day, my human side'll vanish, and I'll regress back to my darker half I have tried to keep down for such a time. And if that happens, well- you won't even know me anymore." the albino turned to his monarch, "Believe me, I think we'll win, because we're awesome and Prussian. I don't doubt you, Fritz. Never had. It's just-"

"Gilbert, stop."

"...?"

Grey met red, before Frederick pulled his nation's body to him in a tight embrace- which the albino fell in, shoulders trembling.

"_Vous tromper_," he whispered, "You utter, utter fool. Don't you dare even think of anything of the sort again."

He released the immortal man, hands still in the other's grasp.

"_Geliebte_- do you really think I would abandon _you? _If you try to kill me, I will avoid your blade until you become tired of it. If you start to hate me, then I will let you hate me. If you become a misanthrope that loathes everything in the world except for sharpening knives while staring outside, I will prepare a chair and an armoury in Sans Souci with a window and a nice view directed. But, damn it- there will be an end to this chapter, like there is an end to every chapter. See? I am still alive, you are still alive, and there are Austrian buggers and Hungarian bandits to be sent to hell. That is what matters_ now_."

He held his nation's hand tighter, and up above, the first flakes of snow began to fall, mingling with the white of the albino's locks. The soldiers' voices (and there was some grumbling about the cold as well) intermixed with a new hymn from the ranks: _Stille Nacht, _the notes of the carol filling the skies of Christmas Eve with spirals of song that touched even Prussia's heart. For a while, all the old war scars seemed to have vanish, and replaced with something new. There was still yet hope, and as long as there was that and Fritz was at his side, then there was still a future , he would beat back those Austrians- beat them back until Silesia was his again. He would win this war. There was hope, and he was going to make that hope a reality. When Prussia wanted something, he would take that something, no matter what was in the way. He was going to show Roderich _just how stupid _it was to mess with Frederick and Prussia.

"_Frohe Weihnachten Fritz_," he whispered, "_und danke_."

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><p><strong>And as Gilbert said, Merry Christmas to you too. This prompt was quite a challenging one to write, and through and through- I'm satisfied with it, I guess you could say. It was mainly inspired from the fact that I personally believe that despite his love for war, six-ish years of toil is massively hard to endure for any nation- even Prussia. Although Frederick at that time was indeed thinking about suicide, he tried at least, to comfort his ailing nation- but he does make a hint in here where it does convey his uncertainty of the whole situation (you'll see it if you squint ^^). Prussia by then was pretty much a ruined mess, almost toppled, until Czarina Elizabeth's extremely timely death.<strong>

**Fun fact: if Elizabeth had died even as little as a week later, then Prussia would have definitely fallen, and Frederick would have killed himself. He told his close friend Catt during this time about his misery, and how he kept a packet of opium with him everyday- enough to overdose and die a rather painless death should he intake it.**

**Please leave a review!**


	4. Prompts 22 to 30

**A/N: Yay...I'm early. I did nothing really during winter break, so I might as well humor with the fruits of my labour. Gooooo F/P!**

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><p><strong>022: Steal (Fritz meeting France at Versailles. Follow up of <strong>_**Fashion.**_**) **

There was something about the man that made France's heart beat faster than its usual rate, and that was saying much, for he had thought that he already had seen most of whatever beauty (physical or not) that the world had yet to offer. But as it all were, Frederick the Great- the renowned king of Prussia, made famous even in the gilded halls of the Versailles court- was not beautiful. He was too grim, too cynical, too wrung out and tired from the demands of his nation, subjects, and war to fit in with the rest of the gentry that resided.

The blond knew what sort of people lived under the palace roof. Amicable people, yes, stunning people, yes- but the vast majority of them were empty people. There were courtiers who never extended their speech beyond race horses and the latest fashions of the day, ladies who talked of nothing more than dresses and hair ribbons and which man held the most attractive face. Certainly, France liked their company- for he did not care for much of a person's value extending beyond a good face and an appreciation of _l'amour_, but he knew that Frederick needed a lot more than tangible beauty for appreciated company. He held the superiority of the mind over less important trivialities, and that was what differed him from the much of the court, and even too, the nation himself. But there was something- just something that made him more interesting than the pigeons back at the golden fountain.

Here was a crow, but a shrewd one, a _refreshing _one. France appreciated the lightning fast wit, a trait that the Prussian monarch was avidly known for. It was glad to converse about, for once- something of relevant matter and not of another too overused frivolity. Yes, the blond decided, Frederick was an interesting individual. Very, very, interesting in contrast to his hooligan of a nation.

"_Monsieur_, it is a charming place you have. I see D'Argens was not exaggerating when he spoke of the splendour of Versailles upon my inquiry." the king said in flawless French that the said immortal smile in delight at seeing the appreciation of his language in a Germanic country, "Of course, it is expected of a nation like yours."

And he had a splendid speaking voice too- a soft tenor, not too forceful, that carried his point across perfectly without waver. Now, if only that voice sounded slightly more human, not as impassive and blank as it was, then Francis would have liked it all the more. What was the man hiding? Fear? An inkling of trepidation? Or was it awe?

He was in no way a stranger to it. Europe was mostly in love with him and his culture now, anyway. But was it awe in Frederick's eyes, or simply clouded surprise at seeing another immortal personification aside from _le Preusse? _Perhaps it was both. The thought of it made the perverse side of him grin in lechery.

"It is an honour, coming from you, and in my own language no less! I am flattered, your majesty. Few Germans have a hold _en français_ like you that I have heard of. Now just master Greek, and Berlin would truly be the Athens of Europe."

The king's hackles lowered a little bit, and some of the tension that had been making his back as stiff as a rod left at the praise and the amusing jest. He smiled too, not a strained one or a bitter one- but a glad one, one that made him not just interesting in spirit anymore, softened the hard lines in on his face into a _visage_ that France dared to call handsome.

Blue eyes darted from greys to the door behind them, checking that it was indeed closed, and that Prussia was still on the other side of it, occupied with God knew what. It was probably the maid that had received them in. She was a pretty little thing, and if Gilbert had gone ahead and taken liberties, then he did not blame the other. He was, after all, going to take a possible few himself…yes, on Frederick. When he had first met the man, he had been cautious at discovering what sort of character the soldier/sovereign held, but now- he was sure that with a few tricks of allure, the Prussian king would fall for him too. Or maybe not, but he would definitely try. He was after all, the country romance, _non? _Such reputation had to be held up.

"Ah yes, that I am aware of, " oh, not a modest one? All the more appealing, "But unfortunately for my guttural countrymen, my ability to speak German is on par with the level of a peasant's."

France looked up with hooded eyes, fluttering his lashes just a bit before bowing his head down, "Your majesty surely jests." Maybe just a little of a blush here? Yes, that would do.

"Hardly. They do not say much of anything aside from 'sire', 'majesty', and 'by your command' –"

"_Oh_?" the blond let a seducing grin slip on his face, and a faint pink to dust his cheeks. He leaned forward and grasped one of the king's gloved hands," I then, agree with your people. Why do we _not _go by your command?"

Frederick, he was glad to see, was not a second behind. Although he did not let any shock show at the implied vulgarity of the metaphor (and he had understood what the immortal man was after), his eyes were another story- slightly dumbstruck before emotion was again replaced with indifference, although therein awakened a glint of something else that that was not there before. Amusement, perhaps. Mirth? Or a challenge to test the extents of France's knowledge _pour l'amour_?

"_Monsieur, _" he said, " What an odd request you make."

"But an honest opinion. Am I not a patron of…shall we say, the sentimental and passionate values of this lustful world?"

"...of course. I can safely say that, since you have stated what you had, is overpowering the remnants of my German stoicism," The Prussian stood up, and sharply nodded once, indicating his amused approval and remained immobile, "Perhaps a more reassuring act confirming that statement would be very much appreciated, _monsieur. _"

Try as he may, he did not successfully hide fully that blush that lightly appeared on his pale complexion. France thought it was slightly cute, really- but most importantly, he had finally managed to summon a reaction out of the military man. The blond slowly rose also, and let a wave of his perfume drift to the other's range. Ah, this was going to be brilliant, especially since the monarch himself had allowed him to pull the _coup d'etat _on Weillschmidt.

Thoughts of such made the Frenchman smirk in triumph as he reached under Frederick's coat and seized a side of his well formed ass, groping it thoroughly. Magnificent ass, really. Maybe a fair share of horseback riding did do wonders for that area in firmness. He was just about to move to the other when the door slammed open and in stormed a speechless Prussia, who went several shades paler at first before flaring out into a scary fit of ludicrous red.

"What the bloody_ fuck _are you doing, you _fucking bastard_?" he all but screamed, "_Get your fucking hands off his fucking ass!" _

"_Salut, le Preusse,_" France said calmly, " I see you decided to hu-"

"_Fick dich!_ Hey!" the albino ripped Frederick away from the blond and shook his shoulders, "Are you okay? Oi- listen! _What did he do to you_?"

The king sighed, and gave him an uneasy smile, "_Gelie-_ Prussia, everything is fine. The only things ever at stake were our dignities, which we both seem to have lost."

France was about to open his mouth to make a remark on the tempting subject, had not the Germanic nation's fist suddenly slammed into his jaw before dragging his king out of the room. However, when the blond later reflected on how close he had coming to mark the great leader with his own ardent touch, he found the ordeal very, very worth it. Even if his jaw had been dislocated as a result. It was, after all, only a minor injury in the quest of love.

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><p><strong>023: Dark (PruAus)<strong>

The knocks that breached the stifling silence of the night had not failed to send also, a column of chills flooding down the Austrian's spine. He had not been sleeping beforehand. It was impossible in the situation, one as tense and regretful and cruel with fearful anticipation as this particular night. Hours had already been spent in fruitless dread waiting for that very knock to shatter the forced tranquility, and now- now it had finally come. He had been expecting it, as much as he tried to convince himself that it was only stupid self delusion that kept him on the edge of his nerve. No, Roderich Edelstein- Austria, as a nation- could never however, delude himself for long. The knocks on his front door terrified him slightly, and his reluctance to leave his small safe haven was one that he had not felt in some time, not since the end of the first war-as he was forced to watch his Empire, his lands be dismantled from him. He was still a nation though- a shadow compared to his olden days, yes- but it was better then nothing, which was more then he could say for Prussia, who had been wiped off the map of Europe.

The knocks grew louder, and with a slight quirk of the eyebrow in distaste, if only to mask the emotions and the pounding heart underneath the surface. Austria pulled himself up. The skill of irony and distance still had not yet left him, although every single time he put on the mask now, it seemed to have grown more weaker then ever before. He pursed his lips before snatching his coat from its nearby rack, glanced at the clock- _2 am in the morning-_and walked down the stretch of stairs that extended down to the main floor of his (now empty) house. the hardwood and stone tiles on the floor were cold to the soles of his bare feet, but barely did he notice. It was only the pounding of the door that held his attention now, and with every occasional thud, it felt that the nails that were being driven into his pulsating conscience burrowed ever so deeper.

Austria did not have to look up to know that it was his old enemy that awaited him as he opened the door. The smell of the fumes of cheap alcohol and tobacco smoke that wafted around the ex-nation and the burning gaze, snapping insane fires, could only have belonged to one man. He did not bother asking the albino for his motives on appearing on his doorstep, for- the reasons had already been too clear. It was February the 25th, that fateful day- to be rewinded and rewinded perhaps, over and over again until Prussia finally faded. He had already seen too much of it, but it _was _February the 25th, and he _had _been dissolved all those years ago after the war- 1947, no longer anything following the decree of the Allies, who had won.

Roderich could not look at the man who had once been his nightmare, and not a few times, the cause of many a headache and anger and dilemma of the crumbling Habsburg imperial power, because maybe- maybe if he did, then there would be sympathy. And sympathy- with some other emotions that he preferred to ignore then acknowledge, would open up new ways to that side of him that he had tried so hard to isolate and overcome. It had not always been Prussia. There had been Spain of course- and Hungary, and a few mortals that he had allowed to hold his affections. They had all ended painfully, either by abrupt turnabouts or, of course, _death._Prussia, if he allowed him to capture too, his heart, would result in the same way as all before him. Austria could not afford to open himself to such a man, lest it also be his own ruin.

_Expecting me, little master?_

_You are a fool. Come in, and pray that maybe the hangover will be less painful._

_Am I then, to be invited into your stupid house? Kesesese..._

_Give me that._

Austria ripped the half drained beer bottle out of Gilbert's hands and threw it out somewhere in the darkness. He heard a crash of breaking glass, and mentally noted to it cleaned up the next morning- if there was to be one.

_Tell me, how is drinking going to do anything?_

_You tell me. I don't have much to lose anymore, Specs._

_You are not a nation anymore, but you are still a_ man. _Has no sense ever gotten into-_

_Shut up. Don't talk about it._

...

_I can't help it anymore. I'm fucking dying, Austria. Everyday I feel weaker and weaker and less attached to the real world. And now...there is..._

He stumbled on his words, hazy from the alcohol partake.

_It was today when they killed me, you know- which you do, obviously. They haven't suceeded, but they're getting closer. The ghosts haunt me evry night and they never, never go..._

_What ghosts?_

_The ghosts of my existence, Roddy. There's March, and Fritz, and Germania, and my brothers...all floating in _her _arms._

Her?

_The White Lady's arms! She's a terrible, terrible thing, Austria, but she's a tempting thing as well. Everytime she visits, she holds out her hand, and it's only with the last fibre of my will that I resist her grasp because I know if I do, then I'll never come back and-_

Prussia fell against the doorframe for support, and even in the night, the brunet can see how he was sturggling to stay awake, to just keep his eyes open.

_-and..._

He falls, and Roderich catches him before he hits the ground. He pulls the uncouncious man inside, laying him down on the couch. It takes him a moment to realize that there is something wet rolling down his cheeks, and even then, it's awhile before he resgistered that they were tears, but he does not wipe them away. How long has it been since he last cried? No. He couldn't cry. Not now. Not when Gilbert was clinging on the last strings of his already bygone life.

_I'm sorry._

And even that, in the end, made no difference to fate's tyrannical dictations.

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><p><strong>024: Choices<strong>

Prussia held the spyglass up towards his eyes, targetting the camps of the Austrians and the French. Night was upon the world, but peace did not follow, for every soldier knew that they were only a scant hairsbeadth away from breaking into battle. It excited him, like it always did- the anticipation, the utter adrenaline that always ran through him at the thought of kicking some enemy ass. The few quiet laughs that poured out of his lips were not restrained- instead, he only spit in the direction of his soon to be victims, and watched in satasfaction as it disappeared in the impending dark.

"How are things?" Frederick approached him, coming out of the command tent lodged behind them. His hat was in hand and his sword was at his side. The shafts of moonlight that caught his features made his grey eyes shine with an aura almost identical to those of his nation's.

"Well, we're outnumbered as usual." the albino smirked, "But who gives a damn? They're a passle of fools, Fritz. We have the advantage of position, and they still haven't realized that we can openly attack their right flank and rear without their notice. _Kesesese_..."

And there it was- the familiar laugh that still sent chills flooding down the king's spine that only Prussia was capable of doing, hinting at the malice that lay behind the veil, rivers of bloodlust that mixed with his intentions. Frederick didn't even blink though, this time around. Things were tense, and the atmosphere was almost at a breaking point. He beckoned for his nation to follow him, "We must make our prepearations. I believe the enemy is going to strike soon, and heaven forbid that we are not ready."

The albino nodded, and took the offered hand as he and his ruler set out, the grim crunch of their boots on the earth berneath their feet echoing the expanse of of their small encampment. He lung his arm around Fritz's shoulders and, still smirking, pecked the other's lips in a chaste kiss promising victory.

"They're going down, Fritz," the soldier sneered, "You and I'll hack off the last of those Austrian heads."

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><p><strong>025: Wit<strong>

Frederick had always hated the Potsdam Grenadier regiment with every concivable fibre of his being, for they represented exactly in every way possible, all the things he loathed the most in the world- his father, stupidity, and the detestable military cult that had been enveloping his nation overall. It was pointless to the crown prince- who prefered his flute and books over anything he deemed barbaric and uncultured. Not to add the fact that his father liked the oversized men more then anything in all of Europe and beyond, which eagerly fueled on even further, his unabiding hate. It was not because Fritz was envious, because he truthfully would not give a further damn whether the orchestrator of all his miseries died or not, but rather because nearly anything his father liked, he was glad to spit on- and it went the same vice versa.

"You're late." Frederick William barked as he saw his son report in for the morning review, "_Gottverdammt_, do you not know what time it is to wake up still after so long? General Weillschmidt!"

"By your command, your majesty." Prussia answered, though the teenager could tell his nation was trying hard not to roll his eyes. The thought made faintly smirk until Katte elbowed him sharply and gave him a warning glance.

The infamous cane pounded ominously against the pavement. "I thought you were in charge of making sure the rascal got up in time. Are you trying to make him more senseless then he alredy seems to be?"

Fritz felt his face heat up with the always present perpetual anger at the dished out insult, but he did not let it show- as par everytime something like this occured that the king would humiliate him in public. He did not give his father credit for at least considering the other party's feelings any longer since well, years ago, but the words still hurt, not by themselves- but because of the pitying looks of the spectators that burnt the back of his head thereafter. He hated pity, almost as much as Prussia hated the very stated himself, and he needed it from no one, especially from Frederick William's fellow cronies like say- Rochow. At least Grumbkow and Seckendorff never_ pretended _to be concerned.

"Your majesty," the prince replied for his nation, being quite a good liar and afraid to let the albino make up his own normally far fetched stories to compensate. He did not want Gilbert to get in hot water because of some neglected duty or the other, however minor- but the king's temper was as fickle and delicate as a half broken thread. There was, after all, a reason to why he was so infamously regarded through his own country and others.

"I was praying to the good Lord." it was a lie to excuse a sleep in for the both of them, nothing more.

"You were?" the king glared daggers at his son, "And tell me- that was why you were late?"

"I was repenting my sins, your majesty."

Frederick William raised an eyebrow and scoffed, "So you couldn't do that while dressing, boy? You take hours to that anyway, the Frenchified fop you are."

"Your majesty," Fritz pretended to look affronted, "God knows that one must pray undisturbed and in tranquil eace to reach him. It is to regard such matters like this one in which one must, according to Scripture, obey the divine before men."

Prussia's smirk was hardly lost on the prince as he winked to the teenager for stiching up such a clever plan. It was Fritz, after all- Fritz, who was much too cunning for his own good. Fritz- whose clever mouthand wit could worm him through nearly any given situation unscathed. Frederick William's face turned red as he tried to string together a reply before raising his cane, but then, remembered the situation and had no choice but to set the stick down again, uttering profanities against his "damnable rascal of a son" under his breath.

The prince only smiled a veiled grin at the proclaimation of his small victory.

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><p><strong>026: Playful<strong>

"Oh _gosh_, Seydlitz." Gilbert laughed as he slammed down his empty cup, signalling the bartender to bring forth some more beer. He and the calvary general had been dispatched west to destroy the Austrian communication lines, and they (as along with the rest of their units) had been glad to find a town that was not plundered like much of the surrounding countryside on their mission. To the immortal man, this at least meant that tonight, he could smoke and drink to his heart's content- something that Fritz absoloutely forbode his nation from doing in his presence on the account that both the things made him disgusted to a point where he wanted to vomit. Seydlitz, he was somewhat miffed to see, declined the liquor, which was slightly ironic considering that the man smoked like an addict- and Prussia knew the man was an addict. A notorious one- his pipe almost seen as a holy relic among his regiments.

"So," red eyes flashed, and he did not bother to hide that trademark smirk that he was avidly known for, "How's it like having a wife around now? Marrying and then leaving the poor countess behind like that..." he tsk'ed, "Does she send you those absurd love letters that Zieten claimed he had found?"

The _generalleutuant_ quirked his eyebrow at the jest, patted his half drunk friend firmly on the shoulder and denied all charges. Love letters? And Zieten? _Ach, _that old prick. Spreading rumor after rumour, like everyone did for amusement...really, it did start to get a little annoying on how the news of his marriage got around like wildfire within really, less then a couple of days throughout the whole army. And the saying was that _women_ liked to gossip (being the cats they were)? He begged to differ that statement now. Suddenly, that beer that the bartender bought up to Weillschmidt seemed awfully tempting, but he was never fond of drinking much. No, not when the next day required vigour and not a hangover.

"Weillschmidt, forgive me from inquiring but-" he said, "How do you plan to ride out with the rest of your soldiers if you are going to drink so much?"

"_Ach_, I will not _ride_. I'll awesomely_ fly_ to wherever we have to go and scare all with my epicness 'cause I'd be floating and everthing..." the nation grinned devilishly at his companion's ludicrous expression, "Oh? You doubt me then, dear Seydlitz? Heh...fine. I'll not fly. I'll ride with the rest of mankind. Geez, don't be such a spoilsport. Your country can take much more then this, y'know..."

The cuirassier inclined his head, "Well, sir- I would not stop you from your flying endeavours, but I worry on if the men would shoot you down by mistake as a bird."

"In that case, the awesome me'll fly around all the bullets, or to such a height where I can taunt them and they'll be unable to reach me," he made an infamous gesture with his hand, "_Ja, _like that. Now give me your opinion. The blonde waitress is hotter, or the black haired one over there...?"

"General, I am a married man. If I answered that question, it would be disloyal towards Suzanne."

Prussia snorted, "Well, well, tied to mother's apron strings, still. I admire your virtue, Seydlitz."

"Sarcasm be a sin."

"_Nein_, I speak it out of my sentiment. You know, if you ditched your military career, you'd be more prim and proper then Fritz in happy matrimony..." the immortal man frowned, "Gott, I miss him already. His rhetoric is to be admired."

The calvary general did not reply as he thoughtfully, with his pipe in his mouth, watched his nation make his way through the throng of people to pick up a talk with the said blonde waitress. General Weillschmidt was a good leader, but a pretty brash individual. It was odd really, how passion and arrogance coupled with unexpected dillegence and discipline and tactical genius combined together made such a man- who was supposed to be, as skeptical as he still was, the immortal personification of Prussia.

He politely averted his eyes as the albino whispered something in the girl's ear and reached down her bodice suggestively, absently wondering how Prussia was going to manage to wake up the next morning, without hopefully, being too badly incapacitated by the ever so looming threat of hangover. As experienced as Weillschmidt was on the field, it also seemed to stand that he still had yet much to learn about the _practical _side of life.**  
><strong>

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><p><strong>027: Secrets<strong>

Germany tried his best to ignore the roars of artillery fire outside his office as he browsed through the piles and piles of paperwork that stacked up on his desk in mountains following mountains. They were military reports mainly, complaints of shortages of men, food, ammunition, and weaponary, and reports on how the allies were pushing deeper and deeper into his lands that cut like hundreds of knives to his heart. The wounds and scars that marred his body under his uniform as well as his own haggard outer shell stood both as living proof of how much the war took, and also as an omen of the ever so looming doom of the end of the cause. No longer did he resemble much the figure of authority he did in the beginning of the war. His hair- the blond locks that were treasured and held so high in regard by the expectations of race in the Third Reich- had dulled, but did not dim to such an extent as his eyes did, which were shadowed over, hollow, tired from the whole struggle that his leaders had created.

Ludwig shook his head and fought the urge to throw his pen against the nearest wall in frustration. It was useless thinking about that garbage now, now that he had gone so far in the whole war- too far to even consider backing out. Was the final victory not close at hand? Was the might of National Socialism not invincible- and through it, his people?

He no longer knew what to believe. There was what he wanted to believe and what was reality- and the line between that and false assurances was so thin now he was not sure what was what. It was ironic really, how he had let weak slander reach him when it was he who had preached against it. No. He could not waver now, not when all the oaths had been sworn and blood of his people (he had felt it as acutely as if he had been the one bleeding) had been split and he had seen how much they had given up to a regime that he was too afraid to admit was lost.

Feliciano's bouncy laughter he now almost welcomed, before he realized that his Italian ally too, had left him. He should have expected as much from one like him to go fleeing to the Allied side when the tide began to turn, and he did- so he was not surprised. Germany was not surprised a lot these days. If someone gave him a pen and a piece of paper and asked him to predict the course of the future, he probably could, to some rough extent of the short run.

He rubbed his eyes and sipped his coffee, willing a faint headache that had begun to settle away. They were becoming more and more frequent now. He tried to evade them as much as possible, but they were not something that he could control, just like his uneasy, broken sleep, which besides work, was his only mind numbing santuary- well, was and no longer. Now, there was only work, and the blond eagerly buried himself in it, if only to forget- for a few moments- the world beyond the sanction of his offices, because as a nation and as an immortal- anaesthesia was the only weapon he had against the hand of the inevitable. He did not look up when his door was slammed open, nor flinch at the angry voices that followed and broke his space of quiet tranquility. _Prussia _was the only one who had the nerve to announce his presence in so brash a manner, and usually- his visits meant nothign at all in terms of productivity.

Ludwig waved the protesting SS soldiers off, and went back to looking over the documents. Maybe if he had left his work for just a second, he could have seen how this visit was far from a pointless one. Maybe if he did, he would have seen how his older sibling was so pale and ragged and dirty and wounded (not just in a literal sense), but he didn't. He left Gilbert to break the oppressing silence that bled between them.

"Brother," Prussia's voice was shaking, and blank- too blank, as if he was trying with every last ounce of his will to not let what emotion that hid underneath show, "Look at me, brother."

The taller immortal sighed in expaseration, not noting the lack of the albino's normally loud remarks or mocking laughs. "What do you want, Prussia? Look, can't you see I am busy with all this-"

"Look at me, brother."

There was something in that tone of voice that Ludwig had never heard his sibling use, _ever, _that had made him raise his gaze. It was a defeated voice, and embedded within- raw pain, disappointment, and _anger._

He did not expect to see the tears that flooded out of his brother's bloodshot eyes, nor the light of betrayal that danced within them.

"Tell me what the _fuck _you were thinking about." the former kingdom snarled," Have you forgotten everything I had ever fucking taught you- or are we no longer allies, dear brother? Finally left me to choke in the dust- or, have you decided to trash me now, since I've _lost my use_?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Germany met the scathing gaze with one of his own, angry at the unexplained insults that he was just pelted with.

"Oh, don't play the with_ me. _What have you done, brother? _What have you done? _Did you really think-" Prussia choked, "That I wouldn't know?"

The German man flung down his pen and stood up too, his impatience burning into a roaring flare. He truthfully had no clue what he was being accused for, nor why Prussia was in his office _crying, _both of which pissed him off because he was blind as to why it was all directed towards him. How was he supposed to know what he _didn't_know? As far as he was concerned, nothing of massive importance had occured on his brother's front-

"The fucking Lancaster bombers are this close- _this fucking close- _from destroying Koningsberg. My men and I got hold of the information today though apparently, Berlin _perfectly _knew all along," the albino shuddered, and seemed at a loss of words for a second in anguished agony, "How _could _you, brother? You miserable...miserable little _motherfucker..._"

This time, Germany did flinch under those terrible, terrible burning eyes that hurled every insult that he had left unsaid to the other, a glare that had- in the olden days as well as even now- sent rendered many an intimadating man into cowering children, and he was not an exception. Prussia had never raised his voice in such a way in anger at him, ever, and never had he stared at his younger protegee with such unveiled hatred and outrage that made the blond want to dig a hole in the ground and huddle there in fear. It was only by the last inklings of the military discipline that he had instilled within him as a soldier, if nothing else, that prevented him from shrinking from the sheer accusation within his brother's eyes.

"I gave my people to you, Germany," he said, voice empty, "I gave my lands, my people, my name, my power. Is this what I fucking get in return?"

He spat on the ground in disgust.

"West, if I had known, I wuld have fucking left you to _die _that day I had found you in the forest."

That was what hurt the most out of all the wounds he had ever recieved in the full four years of the war, and all the time before. Just a sentence was all that Prussia needed to utter to have Germany numb and leaden with horror and fear at the prospect of losing the affection of the one most important to him in the world.

"Brother," the blond pleaded, "Please brother, I truly didn't know. If I had, I would have done everything possible to prevent it, I swear. They...they didn't tell me. Listen to me, Gilbert. I am innocent- I wouldn't do such things- such inhumane things. You're my brother-"

He could not describe the torrent of desperation and terror that destroyed all his sense of the real world as he was given a look of complete scorn and indifference as he tried to justify himself, nor the rage of helplessness at Providence as every single one of his words landed on deaf ears. Prussia did not believe him. Things like this- events like this- had gone past one too many a time for trust to be still found between the brother states, and Germany understood that all too well.

"So I'm not just 'Prussia' now? Humor me, little brother," the albino sardonically grinned a humorless smile, "What have you seen me as in this war besides a burden you didn't want to ferry around, despite all I did for your shitty war that you started? Don't forget that I, _Germany, _I'm the reason why you're even fucking alive right now. It isn't a retarded ex-artist who you owe your exsistence to. It's _me _and _my _leaders. You would still be that pathetic little collection of states, catering to Austria's whims if it hadn't been for Fritz and Bismarck, and luckily for the both of us, they weren't insane like our _so amazing _fuher."

He snapped a mock of a salute, turned on his heel and would have been out the door, had he not suddenly froze, fell to his knees, and began to _scream_. It was a terrible spund, tearing, slashing apart the air in shrill screeches of pure undaunted pain, pain that even Ludwig felt touch his heart, and it terrified him more then any sound he had ever heard in his life, because it was his brother who was screaming. He barely registered it when he sprang from his desk and held his howling sibling in his arms, pleading, begging, saying _anything _that might have made a difference- but words at this point amounted to close to nothing at all.

Prussia was coughing now, wheezing, and screamt more as he spat out mouthfulls of dark crimson blood that pooled around their feet and stained the carpets with his lifeblood that they both knew would never wash out. Red eyes were glazed over as he tore at his uniform, grasping in futile his heart- so violently that the younger nation had to forcefully pry his hand away from the swollen area on his chest to prevent Gilbert from tearing the organ out in his delirium. And- throughout it all, he screamed, screamed at the world in pain that he never felt so acutely- pulsating, sick pain that made his vision flash into lightning bolts of white and red as he doubled over in agony. His heart and the rest of his body in unision felt like they were being ripped apart, secon by second, minute by minute. Whatever hold Prussia still had on reality vanished, and he could only scream and scream and scream in vain for an escape out of the blind, blind pain- one that would seemingly never come...

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><p><strong>028: Marriage<strong>

He does not know how he manages to meet the eyes of Elizabeth Christine without having any of the pent up anger or frustration or despair that was on the verge of making him scream out loud in desperation at the ultimatum, but he does, and he knows that when he did, the gaze was not one of warmth or kindlinss- but rather, one of chill and silent accusation. He looked at her as one might look at their jailer that had just left them to rot in the binding claws of cold, iron chains, but it was not iron that bound Frederick. No, not iron- it was in all irony, _gold_, and the ring that he was supposed to slip on his bride's hand was the very first link of one much longer.

This marriage was the last nail that needed to be hammered into the coffin meant for his torn apart youth to complete the casket for its permanant burial.

To the outwards eye, he had no reason to be miserable, all things be considered. Elizabeth Christine was not an ugly woman. Certainly, she was not what one may call beautiful, but she was not ugly, and the smile that she had greeted her future husband with was one of pure happiness from the depths of her vulnerable heart. _She_ was certainly happy, but _he _was far from it. Never would she even in her dreams probably imagine that at that moment, Fritz cursed her and all of humanity. He barely saw anything that she had to offer beyond her repellent timidness, bland personality, laughable education, and her lacking in every department he held dear.

The fact that she was a _woman _to add to all that, equally repulsed him. True, he had loved and gone after some before- Countess Sophia of Poland to name one, and Doris Ritter for her voice- but they were short bursts of fire that had long since diminished. At least they had more to boast of then what the Austrian princess had to set on the stage. No, Fritz was not concerned about that. He dreaded the union with his every breath because after they wed, he would have no way to rid of the air headed ninny. He could not dispose of her like the other dried up oranges of the past. She would latch onto him and drain him, and as laws of ettiquite premitted, he would be powerless to stop her.

This was, as he had said to Gilbert on many a sleepless night, to be a marriage of not love, and not even friendship. All that he could comprehend of the situation now was that the hand that he held in his felt like a field of burning coals and molten magma, and that the words that the preist were uttering sounded like a collection of mashed together gibberish. If one were to speak of his outlook on the current situation, it was like as if he was there, frozen in animated suspension whilst the passing seconds dearranged themselves from logical transitioning to join in the pathos of the senseless dimensions that surrounded his person. He wanted to run, but he couldn't. His legs were frozen stiff, his entire sense of reason had vanished, and it was only some involuntary sense of his brain that kept him from tumbling into the spiraling abstarcts of obliviation.

And then, Fritz remembered Prussia. Prussia's smile, Prussia's laugh, Prussia's voice in those darkest of times. Prussia's arms, Prussia's eyes, and Prussia's words- soothing, the last of reason that still suspended him within the world. The prince hung onto this last hopeful beacon, the single spot of light in the haze, and that was the only thing that kept him from drowning in it entirely.

The "I do"'s were said, the rings were exchanged, and the cold kiss of false promise forever sealed on him, the burden of new reality.

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><p><strong>029: Dress-Up<strong>

Prussia felt like an unawesome idiot, and that alone was a crime to his amazing self, because it was against his principle to feel anything except awesomeness regarding his person. It was hard not to, really. How was he supposed to feel good about himself when he was forced to parade around the palace like a second Poland, complete in bows and lace and stockings and goddamned _high heels_?

Yes, he had said high heels.

They were red, and their massive buckles were sparkling obnoxiously with diamonds in all their flashy French corniness. And, more woe to add, they were killing his feet up to a point where most of his legs felt sore like if he had just ran to China and then back. Seriously, it would be a brilliant torture method, if Fritz hadn't abolished torture.

Gilbert felt a scowl settle on his face. Fritz. Bloody hypocrite. He wished his king was before him now so that the nation would have a free hand in impaling his head or some other_ parts_of him with the heel of one of his fucked up shoes. Okay, so the immortal man had lost a bet. So what? No one, no matter who the hell it was, was allowed to flaunt it around in a so unheard of manner! He would have gladly waltzed around Berlin naked- but this? This was worse. This was beyond outrageous! Gott, he wanted to give the bastard a piece of his mind-

"General Weillschmidt? Mother of God, what in the...!"

Oh, hell no. He barely had time to groan when Winterfeldt, who just happened to be passing by, barked out a loud laugh. Did he really look that absurd and retarded out of uniform? Well then again..the shoes. The stupid pair of damnable high heels. For a second, he almost didn't blame the other general for laughing, but that quickly changed into indignation at being made fun of. Despite his comical attire, he still had his pride as the awesome Prussia!

"Shut up," Gilbert growled, "Goddamnit. I lost a bet against his fucking majesty, Frederick. Now go laugh at some other miserable bastard out there."

Okay. One thing was certain. Fritz was going to find his head on a pike for this, and Prussia swore that he was going to regret ever doing such a thing to his nation, lovers or not be damned...

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><p><strong>030: Mirror<strong>

He does not recall how far back he had indeed abandoned honesty and bluntness for his mask of irony and distance, but he has carried the latter two around for so long now that he had forgotten entirely how to put it down.

It started to form sometime long past when he was still in his earliest years, a child, naive to most of the world around him. Frederick cannot remember much from about those days anymore, but what he does recall was that they had been happy ones, though- underneath the surface, the first of the storm clouds had already started gathering. Wilhelmina was a god sister, the best that anyone could ask for- and they would often play together or have mock scrabbles under a certain albino's watchful eye. Prussia, or as the soldier said, Gilbert- if the children wished to call him by something more humanly othordox instead- was more of a gurdian figure to the two siblings then their father had ever been, and Fritz always delighted in his nation's company. Queen Sophia Dorothea was a caring mother who always listened with enthusiasm to the boy's drumming, an early hobby, and always fussed over him like all mothers do- sometimes to his subtle annoyance. Back in those days, that was the family portrait in the young prince's mind- and the ever looming shadow of Frederick William, the king- was all but forgotten.

His father barely paid him any heed during his childhood, leaving him instead to his mother and his tutors. When on occasion he did decide to take the prince along for parade or to watch him drill the other cadets, Fritz was wholeheartedly terrified of the man he did not really see as family, but instead- a menacing stranger intruding in his circle of tranquility. In this way, even so far back in his life, he never liked his father. During those years his sentiments towards the king had always been an odd blend of awe and fear, never any really any love or fondness. His father scared him, but he was too afraid (and clever enough not) to say it out loud.

Eventually though, as he grew up and learnt the ways of the Berlin court- the feelings of the previous era were replaced by the more finetly familiar ones of hate and frustration. The stranger of a father had changed from a stranger to a tormentor as Frederick got more and entangled within the political schemes and objectives of other parties around wishing to manipulate not only the present ruler, but the future one as well- namely, Grumbkow, Seckendorff, and his own mother to begin the list with. He started to loathe the king and everything he stood for, prompted on by the eager queen Sophia, who encouraged him to despise his father and whispered of all the black going on's in the court he was not aware of that made Fritz sometimes numb with anger or disbelief. Frederick William did do too much to convince his eldest som otherwise of his character, for- he apparently thought that unless the crown prince was a perfect replica of him in all ways possible, then Prussia would fall the moment his heir assumed the throne.

The more and more his father discovered that his son despised all things he considered holy- hunting, smoking, religion, drinking, and such related- and took a liking to all that was the direct opposite of his supposed _sensible _world- French, Latin, poetry, music, and literature- the more his father verbally abused him and humiliated him- which did nothing at all to improve their already strained relationship. By this time, Frederick's icy formality and mask had already partially formed, despite his scant years alive. Somewhere amidst the curses and insults hurled his way, the twelve year old learnt how to surpress his emotions and to never again be as foolish enough as to wear his heart out on his sleeve. He took all that was dished out to him and replied back with such indifference to the raging fires that threatened him that Frederick William never again got a tearful response.

Fritz from that point on forth only talked in monosyllables or close to robotically when addressed by the king, but- putting his too clever wits into use, retaliated in his own ways to his father. His own stubborness to cave in and his father's frustration at not being able to bend his child to submission created that cold war that dominated much of Frederick's youth, and paved the way for much grimmer consiquences that followed.

Hearts that have not yet entirely hardened were easily dyed, and for the crown prince, he was no exception. Prussia and Wilhelmina noticed the change in his deamour to the public, but did not comment because they knew the causes of it. Sophia Dorothea was too occupied with the double marriage idea to see much. Frederick William became so frustrated at his disobedient son that he started beating him, and on one occasion, stormed into his room and burned some of his French classics, bellowing about how the only texts that he should have been studying were not these useless books, but rather the Bible. The teenaged Fritz had no intention of humouring the king's ideas, so the flute playing and the French continued.

Therefore, the canings got worse and worse by day as the prince refused to surrender his interests and take forth his father's will. Prussia shook his head one morning when Fritz had to limp to his lessons with Duhan. _Were Racine and Voltaire more important then one's well being? _the soldier asked, but they both knew the answer to that question. Both of them had that pride which was so vast and endless that it prevented them from ever admitting that they were wrong, or to give up a cause. The immortal man hated his leader as much as the Fritz did, and defended him with word and fist when he could from Jupiter's thunder.

But even Prussia could not change the verdict when it was drawn up after the pathetic attempt to flee to England failed. Keith was not caught- but if he was to be, then the sentence was that he was to be hung and quartered. Katte got death too, dear, dear Katte. He could still remember that day like if it were yesterday morning , the drums and the guards who had yanked him out of out of bed and forced him to witness his best friend (_and first love_) in his march to the ground of his excecution, berneath his prison cell window. He had pleaded then, begged his guards for the sparing of the one condemmed- until he could talk to the king. He would rennounce his right to the throne and pay for Katte's head with his own. _Anything._ He would do anything as long as Katte was to live.  
>Gilbert was there, paler then death, eyes bloodshot and emotionless. He only repeated over and over again like a broken doll that he had tried everything. He had tried everything, and he had failed.<p>

Katte was to meet his doom.

When the sword fell something inside him broke. Fritz fainted into his captors' arms just before he could see the beheading, but just before he lost his conciousness, there was pain- pain that he had never felt in years and years past. The wounds that he had tried so hard to keep stitched together and hidden had started to bleed again, and this time- nothing was there anymore to hold them back.

He did not recognize himself after Kustrin. He felt dead in a sense, and yet alive in a perpetual state of limbo. Katte's death was what made the final stages of his mask complete, mainly because he was so scared- so scared of what would happen if he had allowed him self to _feel _again. Katte's shadow haunted him day and night, and those terrible dreams of his father's abuse and rages which followed drove him nearly to the brink of insanity. He had to comply to the king's terms. Just staying in the cell now, made him nauseated and pained, like as if there was a knife in his gut that refused to dislodge itself, instead- only ripped through, deeper and deeper and deeper. The prince- if he was still one- was tired of it all. What was the point of resistance still when his father showed that he was not above atrocities that others could barely even speak of? Even though he thought of himself undeserving of life now, he was still afraid of death itslef- now more then ever.

And this mask that he wore from that point on, he was still wearing now. Frederick did not know how to take it off anymore. He was afraid to take it off. In a sense, like he told Duhan in a letter, he was like a mirror- reflecting only his surroundings and not what nature had originally intended, whatever that was supposed to be. Frederick the Great was not all that his people thought of him to be. They had never seen the other side of him, the side that he tried so hard to hide away. In all truth, he was just a man- a man too hardened by the harshness of reality to reflect anything but the world around, and never within.

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><p><strong>Oh my bloody Gott. 9306 words for the story. It's odd really, because these things are just getting longer and longer and longer as chapters go by. Hey, maybe the next fills will hit an even 10 000. If that happens I'd be all smirking and rolling my eyes ^^<strong>

**Anyhoo, I realized that these nine prompts had less F/P then all the fills before it. I mean...it was mostly abiut their lives and not enough fluff. I actually liked ot better this way, in a sense, and these fills were obviously, by far- my favourites that I had written. I am thinking of redoing 1-10. They honestly sort of sucked, now I look back... = =**

**Steal: I don't even know what this is *facepalms*... If you've read the Hetalia manga, more specifically, the Seven Years' War comics, Fritz is in them and he says something about France having groped his ass. I was just like '_bingo_' and this popped up, after some inspiration from the writers at LJ. The only reason Fritz premitted for it to happen is because he was France's total fanboy, and France knew that all too well XD**

**Dark: Oh, February 25th, saddest day of the year ;_;. I think Prussia would have drunk himself silly just to forget for a second what's going on. March is Brandenburg- because his literal name is _March Brandenburg,_ as one would say in German, and he died, so yeah...sad, sad things. Still remember him from _Forest? "_The White Lady" is a supposed ghost that appears before all Hohenzollerns before they die, as myth goes. Since Prussia is Prussia, I thought it would make sense for her to be mentioned.**

**Choices: Some typical Fritz/Prussia quality time in the midst of the War of the Austrian Sucession. Prussia's laugh for some reason, scares my headcanon Fritz.**

**Wit: Fritz, you little smart ass ^^. This is actually based on a true account, though the dialouge has been slightly changed. His wit was throughly admired, and it ended up saving his own ass in a lot of occasions- like when he was still imprisoned in Kustrin after the running away to England incident. If you've read on how he answered the interrogation questions, you would be absoloutely amazed at how freakin' cunning he was. Gilbert would have been proud XD. Katte gets an appearance too~**

**Playful: I totally love General Seydlitz. He's a bloody brilliant guy, his calvary tactics were amazing, he was the youngest Lieutanant General that Prussia ever had, and his sex life was hilarious. XDDDD Seriously. Prussia would have been jealous if he knew how many women Seydlitz had flings with. Anyway, I just wanted to write about them having a chat, for some reason or the other. Zieten's another Lieutanant General of calvary- more specifically, the hussar regiments. They were known as the Zieten Hussars and they were awesome.**

**Secrets: This was supposed to be a stand alone, but I got too lazy, and thus, it's here in the middle of the story. Koningsberg- modern day Kaliningrad- although I will NEVER call it that, ever- was bombed mercilessly during the Allied advance in WWII, and itr burnt for three days after. Considering the fact it was Prussia's de facto capital, he would have been utterly ripped apart. ;_;**

**Wedding: Anyone who'e read on Fritz's life would know how he was absoloutely notorious for shunning his wife. I wouldn't say safely that he hated her, but he certainly didn't like her much, and ignored her for his entire life, unless he had no choice but to see her. Strangley, enough- he didn't divorce her. Elizabeth Christine on the other hand, was in love with Frederick, and didn't understand why he didn't like her.**

**Dress Up: Okay, so Chibistarr and I were having a chat about well, Fritz, obviously, and then I made a joke on French high heels- and it was actually common for men to wear them back then. I then had an idea about Gilbert being forced to wear them because he lost a bet against his king, and since Gil keeps his word of honor, he had to parade around in them XDDD. Winterfeldt was Fritz's total cronie, and his favourite out of all of his senior generals.**

**Mirror: Also meant to be a stand alone, but I got lazy and etc etc etc. Pretty much a tracing of Fritz's life and the creation of his persona. He actually did write a letter to Duhan stating that.**

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><p><strong>Please review! Again, it would be very appreciated!<br>**


	5. A Tribute to the Memory of Prussia

**A/N: I am so sorry I have not been updating guys. A lot has been going around lately- like the AMC and Pascal and other math contests as well as things in my personal life. I truly apologize to whomever of you guys expecting something like a Valentine's Day special. I'm sorry- there is to be none. But, we all kind of know what day it is tomorrow, do we not?**

**The answer, dear readers, is Prussia's dissolution. Here's an angsty WWII AU to the occasion involving Fritz as well.**

**(To avoid confusion- Fritz is a blond in my headcanon, because he actually is blond in the actual Hetalia universe. In real life he had brown hair, but I do like him with blond hair much more so...)**

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><p><strong>031: Numb (WWII- Stalingrad)<strong>

Once upon a time, he might have hoped, but now there is nothing left to hope for, because he _knows _that he will die no matter what he tries to tell himself, no matter how many convincing (desperate) lies he conjures up- for, reality was too bleak and obvious this time. He knows it's only a matter of time and fact that soon, he too will join hands with the parted souls of the once living men around him.

Gilbert has not risen from his position for hours- or days even. Whichever it was, he could not recall, because it is too cold to move and it is too cold to still properly think. His clothes don't help against the frozen fangs of the Russian winter, nor do his gloves, or the fact that he was huddled against a shrapnel chipped wall, doing everything in his power to conserve body warmth. He is not too sure of what that was anymore, only that it was some wonderful thing that he had once taken for granted until he discovered what it was like to be exposed and helpless to every drift of death chilling wind. His stomach is a constant painful reminder to the fact that he had not eaten for days, and that dissipates some of the numb that hazes his reason; he has tried eating snow to ward off dehydration, even if he knew that it was the worst thing to do in such a case (but then again, he can no longer find the will to care). It doesn't matter anymore how he is out of ammunition. His gun is too frozen over to fire, and whatever Russian that ends up finding him will most likely see him as too pitiful to shoot- that or a waste of good bullets. It's slightly painful to think about all of that, so he tried not to. He looks onwards to the blizzard of white and frozen hell, and he remembers. Remembers and regrets.

It is hard not to cry when he thinks about what he has left behind, and what could have happened instead. He thinks of, for just a moment, not enemy soldiers or the Fatherland or the half blown apart building he is in, but of flute music and bad poetry and the green of the Prussian countryside. The happier times of his life surface, and although it hurts terribly to recall and remember, he finds that he cannot pull himself out- so he does recall and he does remember. The cement walls around him vanish for a slight second, and he allows his memories to replace them.

He misses the playful banter between them, the sarcastic rhetoric and blunt jokes that had always made the two laugh in all cynical manner. He misses being able to bury his nose in those curly locks of soft, flaxen blond as he complains of how French had nothing superior to the German language. He misses the pursing of those thin lips as he is lectured under the stern gaze of clear grey eyes for the hundredth time why Gilbert was supposedly wrong, and all the attempts at poetry that Fritz read to him on occasion (_in French_) that he never had the heart to criticize, because he knew that the other would sulk and snap for days on end if he did.

He misses their garden behind their house and the flowers and orchards that was within it, as gardening was a guilty pleasure that both of them had, and one that both of them relished. maybe they would have an argument or two concerning who and who had replaced what and what, because he always lost things easily along in it. He misses the familiar trills of Principessa under nimble hands and the whack he would get for remarking how Frederick was a much better musician then he was a writer. He misses the familiar eyes and voice and arms and mind- and in fact, they are the very last things stationing him in the present world.

But then he remembers that his love is gone, and would be still gone forever if he for some miracle, did get back alive. He does not forget the burning words of anger that the two had exchanged, and then of the blond leaving with a bruised jaw for somewhere he never had said out loud. He had not heard of the other for months and months after. Fritz had not believed in the war, nor of anything that was related to National Socialism. Gilbert hadn't either, but Gilbert had believed in his country and duty to his country. He had called the other man a coward and a traitor, and all kinds of things he later on regretted with his life, but it hardly made a difference**.** He had gone to the training camps the next day and- and- and...

It becomes too difficult to go on, and whatever reason he still had lingering in his mind disortates into a mishap of mashed together blank.

_I'm sorry, _he thinks, and his eyes begin to close almost involuntarily, without resistance. He was so tired, and so weary, and so blasted cold that everything around him seemed to be unravelling on their own accord, leaving him to drift in the spirals of obliviation and the blind eternities of his own counsciousness, _I'm sorry. I failed. It seems like I won't be back after all._

But there is no one to hear him, and no one to respond. After all, this was something that he could no longer deny. He does not know who he is apologizing to, but even then he does- perhaps to a memory that would always remain a memory and nothing but that now. It was so sweet while he held it, but even then now, nothing really mattered too much anymore.

He closes his eyes, and then there is nothing.

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><p><strong>Honestly, this should have been up later, but I don't have any time to spare tomorrow on the 25th. So guess what? You get it early. Wooot.<strong>

**Prussia's dissolution was utterly unfair and unjustified. The only point that could have served as justification was the fact that Germany lost the war, and therefore- it was subjected to the terms of an unconditional surrender. Still though, it's quite depressing, and awful that Prussia was just wiped off the fucking map of Europe. I mean, isn't that a little too harsh? (Note my sarcasm)**


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